Dark Prodigy
by Tridentwatch
Summary: Over 80 chapters planned! After being privately trained for ten years, Harry gets a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. Dark!Harry: Animagus form and Pairings to be decided.
1. Vernon Dursley's Decision

Title: **Harry Potter the Prodigy**

Author: Tridentwatch

Summery: **Harry was taken into an orphanage where the head staff can do magic. After being privately trained for ten years, Harry gets a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry.**

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**Table of Contents:**

Part 1 – Chapter One to Chapter Nine – Harry's training and childhood

Part 2 – Chapter Ten to Chapter Twenty – Harry's first year

Part 3 – Chapter Twenty-One to Chapter Thirty – Harry's Second year

Part 4 – Chapter Thirty One to Chapter Forty – Harry's third year

Part 5 – Chapter Forty One to Chapter Fifty-Two – Harry's fourth year

Part 6 - Chapter Fifty-Three to Chapter Sixty-five – Harry's Sixth year

Part 7 – Chapter Sixty Six to Chapter Seventy Eight – Harry's Seventh year

Part 9 – Final Battle

Part 10 – Epilogue

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This is an epic fic written to pay homage to J.K Rowling and her brilliant creation: Harry Potter. There will be spelling mistakes, there will be grammar errors, the writing might not be the best at times, there might be a few clichés and parts that will make you vomit, but the one thing that I can promise you is my commitment and my best effort. Please seat yourself comfortably and enjoy.

This fic is my final test in the fanfic world. After I complete this I will move on to writing original stories and novels. You are under no obligation to review but it would be nice to read a few comments and words of encouragement. Without further ado….

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Part One

Chapter One – Vernon Dursley's Decision

Vernon Dursley was asleep when the alarm rang out. He opened his blurry eyes and stuck a hand out almost clumsily to shut off that darned alarm clock. Then he got up, put on his slippers to ward off the cold hardwood floors, and went downstairs to the kitchen where his wife, Petunia Dursley was making a large breakfast. "Good morning, Pet," Vernon said and picked up the newspaper from the foot of the main door of Number Four Privet Drive.

"Vernon, you're up early!" Petunia said.

"I have to go early to make that promotion, you know." Vernon said as he sat down on one of the chairs and flipped off the rubber band that held the newspaper together.

"Oh yes, manager of Grunnings Drills," Petunia gushed, "Now we will finally have enough to buy the new car-"

"It's not for sure, Petunia." Vernon said, almost annoyed. "Markham is a right bastard with his ass kissing." He threw the newspaper down without bothering to glance at the headlines – "Strange Sightings – Owls flying in the day time!"

"Vernon, I know you will get the promotion," She said and laid a nice slab of ham on the plate in front of him. "Here, would you like coffee or tea?"

"Give me coffee today. I think I am going to need it."

"Right," she said and poured some hot black coffee into Vernon's mug. "Dudley's coming along fine." She remarked.

"He's asleep?"

"Yes, finally. He was a horror last night though, woke me up right out of bed."

"Well, he's going to grow up to something you know. Something big, I am sure of it." Vernon said wistfully, love in his eyes. "Dudley Dursley, President of Grunnings Drills. How does that sound, Pet?"

"Wonderful dear, finish your coffee now."

After having a filling breakfast, Vernon bathed, shaved, and got dressed into one of his best suits – he had a feeling he was going to make some big sales today, just a feeling – and kissed Petunia goodbye on the cheek. "Get some eggs while coming home, Vernon." Petunia said as she waved Vernon out of the driveway.

Vernon smiled, tipped his hat a bit, and got into the red Toyota. It was old and looked almost broken down. They really needed a new car. He put the key into the ignition and started the car. Then he pulled out of the driveway and zoomed away.

On the way to the office, he saw something strange. Owls. They were everywhere it seemed, flying around in the sky, sitting and dripping bird poop on respectable cars, and just being a nuisance. Vernon wished he could take his rifle and just shoot the bloody things but that was illegal. He didn't approve of breaking the law, just like he didn't approve of imagination, or initiative. "Bloody birds annoying respectable people like me," He grumbled to himself as he parked the car in the 'lot. Then he got out and went in the office, noticing from the corner of his eye robed men and women gathered in a circle. "Bloody hippies," He said angrily. His day was already ruined, but what he didn't know was that his life would be ruined as well. Very very soon.

Petunia Dursley was feeling disturbed. That bloody cat sitting on the cyclone steel fence was unnerving her terribly. She was washing the dishes and looking at the cat, and the neighbor's house, when she stopped. Startled. The cat jumped down from the fence, changed into a human and disappeared. Petunia thought she was seeing things but this brought back memories. Faint memories of terrible times from her childhood.

Lily Evans was a brilliant little girl, the apple in Petunia's parents' eyes. Ever since she could talk at one, write at two, draw lovely paintings and sketches, she had held the love and devotion of her parents to an abnormal extent. Nobody noticed the unnaturalness however – the eerie green eyes, the grin when daddy or mommy wasn't looking and the glare directed in Petunia's direction.

Petunia did however, and she wasn't terribly surprised when the letter of acceptance to Hogwarts School of magic came. But she was scared. Lily had gotten insufferable and very smug with herself too . . . when daddy wasn't looking. Petunia was jealous of Lily, and she hated the red haired girl.

But when the letter came for the first time in her life Petunia was scared of Lily. "Little Lils would never harm a butterfly," Mommy had told her. But Petunia knew.

And sure enough when Lilly came back for her summer vacation, she had that wand. That wooden stick that she would wave and make frogs appear, or change her hard cooked breakfasts into windows or matchsticks. And her parents would laugh. Petunia joined in too, but the energy wasn't there. That was when it was allowed for students to do magic underage.

Petunia had never been so scared. She would stay up at night looking at the door imagining she heard footsteps of Lily coming into her room and strangling her with that wand. But it never came. And the fear passed but the jealousy didn't. Was it fair that Lily had everything and she didn't? No it wasn't.

Then she got married and lived happily ever after, and Petunia got married as well – too Vernon Dursley. She held no illusions, she wasn't pretty or smart like her little sister. This was the best she could get, a fat pig, and a little fat pig – Her lovely Dudders.

"Stop it, girl." She said. "Don't think of these things." Then she looked out the window and sure enough, the cat was gone. Disappeared with a pop. Petunia shuddered in fear.

Later that evening, Vernon Dursley parked in the driveway and got out of the Toyota, a smile on his face and a leather brief case in his hand, a gift from his boss for the promotion.

"I did it, Petunia! I did it!" He said, his smile widening as he opened the door and hugged Petunia with wide arms. Then he soundly kissed her on the lips.

"Congra-Congratulations, Vernon." Petunia gasped out.

"How's my Dudley?"

"He's in the living room and you won't believe what he did. He changed the channel of the T.V all by himself!"

"Lovely, taking after his old man." Vernon said and planted the briefcase on the floor. "This here is a gift from Mr. Lennings. My boss, you remember him don't you?" Mr. Lennings was a skinny man with pale skin and bloodshot eyes they had invited to dinner one time. He scared her.

"Now I am dead beat, so I'll watch some T.V. How about some dinner?"

"Coming right up," Petunia said, smiling as well. A promotion! That meant more money, more nice things, and a step further in that subconscious contest in her mind to measure herself up to Lily Evans.

She cooked mashed potatoes, set a bit of gravy aside – a huge bowl of it infact – and took the roast out of the oven. It smelled heavenly. "I had a feeling you would get this, so guess what I did…"

Vernon laughed and together they heaved the enormous dinner onto the table. Then they carried the table – it was light weight – to the living room and parked themselves on the couch in front of the T.V.

For the rest of the night they watched their old Japanese made Telly Vernon had brought from a garage sale. "I am going to get a new one, one of those huge ones." Vernon told Petunia. "A good one."

"That's wonderful honey." They dug into the dinner with gusto and watched their telly for the rest of the evening – An old western, a program called: Run with the Wind, some show based in the Victorian era, and the news which disturbed Petunia greatly, and made Vernon laugh. He wouldn't be laughing very soon though.

"There have been reports of owls flying across the country, very scary stuff since they usually fly at night. This might be an early Halloween for some folks and there are people already celebrating – robed men and women handing out candy and getting drunk, and being arrested for public intoxication. Now back to Jim for the weather. Is it going to rain owls tonight?"

Vernon bellowed in laughter and changed the channel. "Freaks," he muttered. Later, after they cleaned up, put Dudley to bed ("Oh look how cute he is") and made some hot cocoa as was their ritual before sleeping, they heard the doorbell ring.

Ding! Then another one. Ding! Two rings that showed that they mean business, but not urgent or forceful.

"Who the hell is calling up at this time," Vernon grumbld as he lifted himself out of the sofa, a hefty task, and went to the door. He opened it and said at once, "Whatever you are selling, we do not want so kindly lea-"

He stopped, a bit stunned. There was nobody there. "Sonafabitches," Vernon said and turned to close the door. He stopped short as he caught sight of a strange thing.

A baby. Some nut had left a fucking baby on the porch. What kind of person would-

"Petunia! Come here." There was a letter too, next to the baby. It was oldish looking and brown, the address was written in green ink. "Too Vernon and Petunia Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive"

Petunia came and peered over his shoulder. When she saw the letter she shrieked. "Oh god, its them." She was staring right into the baby's green eyes that looked so alike… memories rushed past her as the blood drained from her face, turning into the colour of polished bone.

Vernon opened the letter.

_To Mr and Mrs Dursley, _

_My name is Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry. I am the bearholder of Lilly and James Potter's last will and testament. They died quite recently in an accident and now it is up to you to take care of their only son, Harry James Potter. I know this must be a burden sprung up on you but I hope you can find it in your hearts to take him in. _

_Sincerely, _

_Albus Dumbledore. _

"What the hell…" Vernon said as he read the letter, then read it again. "Petunia, are these the people you told me about?" He gulped. "The magical folk?"

"You saw them for yourself at the wedding," Petunia said faintly. "I don't know what we should do."

"We should sue the bastards that's what-"

"No Vernon, come inside please. They might be hearing us right now."

Vernon's eyes widened. "You might be right." He warily picked up the straw basket that held Harry Potter and brought him inside. He set the basket down on the little table by the sofa where the phone was almost carelessly.

"What should we do?" He asked.

"We have to take him in. It's the only way."

"There's no way I am going to let this…. Freak near my Dudley."

"But think of what they will do if they-"

"Bloody hell let them try. I have my shot gun, and I'll stock up on some more-"

"You don't understand Vernon. These people are…. Magical."

"Yeah well, let's see if they can magic this!" Vernon opened the cupboard under the small table and took out the yellow pages. "I am going to send him to an orphanage and then we will boot it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean leave the country. We can go to Australia, I hear the kangaroos are friendly enough."

"Leave this? LEAVE MY HOUSE?"

"Yes. It's the only way, Petunia."

"But what about your promotion?"

"What about it? I can get a new job. A man of my skills can find work anywhere."

Petunia stayed silent for a while, deep in thought. Vernon watched her carefully, if Petunia said no, then he would agree because he could never say no to Petunia. Not really. He loved the woman. Simple as that.

"Okay," Petunia said at last.

Vernon sighed, relieved. He flipped through the yellow pages, and said, "Pack your bags, we are leaving."

Petunia nodded and went upstairs. "Just take what you need, Petunia." Vernon called out. Then he looked back to the yellow pages…. O…. Or… Orphanages! Harry began to wail, Vernon ignored this. He jotted down the address on a bit of notepaper, and went upstairs to back.

They dumped a few clothes into a valise, and all the money and valuables around the house. "Hurry up, before they come to check," Petunia hissed. They hurried faster. Then they loaded a couple suitcases with all necessary belongings into the Toyota, looking warily on either side for any sign of the magical people. At last, Petunia came out of the house with Dudley hanging in one basket in one arm, and Harry in another. She set them down on the porch steps and locked the door nice and tight. Then she lifted the baskets up again and climbed into the passenger seat of the Toyota. Vernon started the car with a whroom sound and pulled out of the driveway carelessly. He raced down Privet Drive, and onto the highway. He had taken an address of the orphanage at random, pulled on by urgency. He turned onto Rechkshaw Lane and came upon the white building. There was a sign that said, "Ezasporo Orphanage" in big capital letters. Vernon took Harry from Lily's arms and ran up to the front door, left Harry Potter. He knocked hard with his fists five times in quick succession and ran back to the car. He climbed in and with a roar of the engine sped away, to Australia or America or wherever the hell he chose to go, Petunia tagging along. They might change their names, they might have died in an accident, who knew. Because the wizarding world never heard from them again.

And they wouldn't check up on Potter for another ten years.

Harry Potter was left there in his basket, snuggly sleeping, strangely unaffected by the cold October wind. In the morning he would be found and taken in.

For now, he slept.


	2. Growing Up

Harry Potter the Magical Prodigy

Chapter Two – Growing Up

The nurse who found Harry Potter was quite surprised to find the baby on the orphanage's doorstep. She wondered what kind of cruel father would do such a thing (she was a bit prejudiced to men) and hurriedly took the baby in to the medical ward. She handed the basket - sans magical letter which was dropped in the drive way of Number 4 Privet Drive and blown away in the wind to land on a lake far away lost forever - to Mother Linda. "Oh, Linda," Nurse Ingred exclaimed. "Look what I found right on our doorstep! What kind of cruel person would do such a thing, you think?"

"Why, that's a baby." Linda said, and took Harry in her arms. She was a big woman, very fat and very tall, had pale skin, hooked nose, rotting teeth, friendly eyes and big teets which she let the baby Harry suck on. Baby Harry looked pleased.

"Ingred, go tell Mr. White about this at once." She said.

Ingred was a short and skinny woman, a direct contrast to the motherly Linda. She obeyed meekly. "Okay, Linda. But you tell me all about this baby right here. Oh and let me pick the name please."

Linda nodded absently as she rocked the baby, who was sucking hard on her left teet devouvering mother's milk. She looked up startled as Mr White strode into the nursery. He glanced at the other babies on the beds, sleeping quite soundly and then at Linda and a quick and very alarmed glance at the baby. Or more specifically, his scar.

"What is going on here?" Mr White said. He was tall, had hawk eyes and a long nose, a curved saber like mouth and white hair that stood on end. He wore a white suit, as per to his name, and a green bowler hat. He had bought the orphanage a few months ago – His act of charity to… repay past misdeeds.

"I found this poor defenseless baby right outside our doorstep. Honest to god," Ingred said, almost to the verge of tears. "How can people just abandon babies and-" She broke out into sobs.

"I see," Mr White said. "We will have to take him in. His name will be… Harry…. Harry White. I will adopt him myself."

"What?" Linda asked. "But we aren't allowed to adopt babies from the-"

"I am the owner of this institution and as such what I say, goes. Any questions?" He asked.

"No," Linda said. "So you are going to take him under your wing? Like, take him home and stuff?"

"Yes, he won't live here. He will stay with me."

"Okay, boss. Good luck though because you are going to need it with the feeding and the diapers and the…."

A look of disgust crossed his face. "On second thought, you take care of him, along with the other babies until he reaches the age of three. Then I will adopt him."

Linda smiled, Ingred cheered. "What are we going to do about the people who left him? Should we call the police you think?"

Mr. White shook his head. "No, let it go. They won't find anything anyways so why bother. Now get to work you two. I'll go down into the basement and wake up the cook." He looked at his wristwatch. "Breakfast starts at nine o'clock promptly. See that the babies have been fed and cleaned."

This was the nursery area of the orphanage where all the babies stayed. The orphanage was very big and completely funded by Mr. White and his personal fortune. All the staff knew – that is, Ingred, Linda, Johnny the cook, Martha, Vertica, Ashley and a host of other volunteers – that Mr. White was a stiff, ungainly man. They talked about him behind his back, the rumour mill's conclusion was he was a miserly old grouch turned philanthropist. But he was a strange one. He carried a stick with him in his back pocket everywhere he went, and sometimes he disappeared! One time he locked himself in the office, and came in the next morning through the front door. The office was still locked but Mr white tapped the knob with the stick and it became unlocked. It was like magic, and Linda had never been so shocked. She had seen everything from the corner foot of the stairs.

The orphanage had four floors – The basement was the kitchen and cafeteria, the ground floor was for Mr. White's office, sleeping quarters for the staff, and the nursery. Top of that was for the young boys, and on top of that was quarters for the young girls. The orphanage had a big yard outside where they all played in the daytime. All were home schooled by Mr. White himself who taught arthimetic and English in one of the unused rooms.

The orphanage was expensive to run, but received tax compensation from the government which made it easier on Mr. White. Even if he had to pay tax however it was not a big problem with his fortune which went over a million pounds according to the rumour mill.

Mr. White was strange. Everyone knew it. He seemed tense always to the point of paranoia, like he expected some people going after him or something. He would walk down the halls in the middle of the night, muttering to himself, "Aurors might get me. Aurors might get me. Voldemort…. Voldemort…. Voldemort…."

Yup, he was a strange nut with a mysterious background. So when he offered to adopt Harry personally and take him to his own home which was a big old mansion south of London, well Linda was suspicious. She thought that Mr. White had certain phedophilic tendencies and decided she would do her best to keep Mr. White away from… Harry White. What a common and disgusting name, Harry. But she wouldn't change it. Or else she might get sacked and Linda really needed this job. You see, she was a closet novelist, and this place provided her with room, board and a bit of free time. It was a good deal, until the unmarried woman of forty two got published and unvariably became a best selling author and earn a huge fortune. Then she would boot it out of there. But for now, she would stay and get closer to her secret goal of writing the great best seller, and keep Harry safe of course from that evil Mr. White who was the villain in one of her stories.

Imagination was real to some wasn't it?

So Mr. White waited and bid his time, an ex-death eater on the run from both the aurors and Voldemort and his forces he had abandoned. But now Voldemort was dead. The aurors weren't sleeping though, they were rounding up everyone they could. He was proficient at dueling, and had a BIG crime history the aurors would love to get him, he knew.

He also knew – with his heart running up to his throat every time he thought about this – he had Harry Potter.

Harry fucking Potter!

Why he could conquer the whole world with Harry fucking Potter! He could be…. The next dark lord. All he had to do was train Harry and maybe brainwash the boy. He had done it before in his death eater days, in his scientifick experimenting days. So when Harry became all grown up and had a huge fortune, well all Mr. White had to do was order the brat to give it to him.

His staff thought he had a fortune but that was not true. Just an imperio here and an imperio there got him a LOT of government funding. But he couldn't get too much or else the government would find out there was a black hole in their funding and the Prime Minister would call the Minister of Magic and then the aurors would come running down on Mr. White's head.

But he had enough to bid his time. Now when Harry White (he liked the name) became three years old, he would take the boy under his wing and teach him, train him, make the boy look up to him, worship him. That was what he was going to do. So when Harry reached the top with his fame, Mr. White would be right there behind him.

Things happened. Monotonous things. The time went fast, and Mr. White watched Harry from the corner of his eye. The baby was growing up nice and healthy, full of energy, and curious. That was good. No sick little boy for him.

Now he had to wait three years. The earliest time that the boy would become able to understand, and grown enough to know… to know who was in charge. Mr. White, that's who!

But the boy was strange, Mr. White soon noticed. The boy's eyes, green eyes, would peirce right into you like a sword, and cut you up. Analyze you. Also, Harry never spoke. He never cried, never shouted, never did anything really. That was strange. Mr. White did not like it, why can't he just get a normal boy?

Linda loved the brat though. She would gush on him, and give him sweets, and feed him from her breasts and rock him to sleep every night. Ingred didn't do that much, she got a pitying look on her face every time she saw Harry… and other abandoned babies too. She had a soft spot for them because she had been abandoned as a baby too. She had to live in a government orphanage.

Ingred taught the children too when Mr. White wasn't around, or feeling lazy. "Now children, lets sing Roll around the Hippos!" That was her kind of teaching. Mr. White didn't think much of this. Singing songs and playing tag wouldn't build discipline and a will to work. Honestly why the hell had he started an orphanage? Even though it presented a good cover from the aurors, the death eaters, and the muggles too but…. Oh yea, that's why.

Harry grew up slowly, but for sure he grew. It felt slow to Mr. White. He watched impatiently and was scared when he noticed Harry never talked. That was fucked up. He didn't want no retard boy. Although that would be easier for him. Easier to brainwash. Not so easy for Harry to gain power and drag Mr. White along.

Mr. White had plans.

-----

The Wizarding world didn't notice the disappearance of Harry Potter. They were more involved celebrating and going out in the sunshine, having an ice cream cone in Diagon Alley, simple things you couldn't really do when Voldemort was alive and out to get you. The magical world had taken a bright streak now. Finally after long years of paranoia, of running away, they were finally able to be themselves. They were safe!

Mrs. Figg however, the lady with the cats who had just moved into Privet Drive, noticed the Dursleys were no longer there. The police were called when the rent was paid and the Dursleys were listed as missing now, along with Harry Potter.

Dumbledore was called in, and he was worried. But he assumed that the Dursleys had moved away somewhere because Harry's alarms and wards showed he was safe and happy. Besides, he would know Harry's address when they sent a Hogwarts letter. It would be written on the envelope magically, so all was well.

Three years soon passed, and then, Harry Potter spoke his first word in the orphanage. Not just his first word but a full sentence, right on his birthday. He said, very clearly, Linda heard, "It's going to rain."

Linda looked up startled from the book she was reading and glanced out the window. It was sunny out, not a cloud in the sky. She thought it must have been her imagination. A three year old speaking in complete sentances with proper grammer? No way.

That night the sky darkened and a huge thunder storm erupted, with lightning and harsh wind. But Harry wasn't referring to that.

He was referring to the wizarding world, a sort of premonition that Linda and Harry both wouldn't remember. A freak divination accident maybe.

It would rain soon, and in a bad, mean way.

The wizarding world was going to feel fear again, soon. Voldemort wasn't quite dead.

Two things happened on Harry's birthday – he performed his first act of accidental magic, and Mr. White was around to witness it. Harry was also enrolled in Mr. White's care now. On that matter, Linda could do nothing.


	3. Accidental Magic

Hey guys, thanks for the reviews. Hope I get more.

Harry Potter the Prodigy

Chapter Three – Accidental Magic

Harry was in his grey pajamas, sleeping in the nursery ward. He didn't take up much space because he was only four years old.

It was Harry's birthday. Linda didn't know it, but Mr. White did. The newspapers had a good time with this national event. They called it "Harry Potter Day" and indeed it was. A reminder of the dark lord's defeat. Mr. White was honestly glad the dark lord was defeated, because he had abandoned Voldemort ten years before his defeat. Ever since then Voldemort had been after him. Setting up the orphanage was a stroke of genius but now it was time to change.

Harry Potter was growing quite nicely. He was sleeping when Mr. White came in, but he heard the footsteps and recognized it for who it was. He opened his eyes and looked. Not just looked but he actually observed and catalogued. His mind worked differently than other babies – It was more advanced, more scientific, more cold. Maybe that was a result of the killing curse that he never felt much emotion. Babies cried a lot, they shrieked and whined because they were scared and afraid. Or sad, or in pain.

Harry didn't feel much, just faint nerve responses that he easily ignored. So when Mr. White strode in with a birthday cake, candles and all, he didn't feel anything. No joy and no longing for his real parents either. At three years old he was not necessarily smarter than the other kids, just more aware. He didn't have faster reactions, in fact he had slow reactions and would take his time thinking of what to do. When a baby wanted a toy, a normal one would grab it but Harry would ponder on the toy for days at a time then at last decide, nope I don't want it. It's useless to me.

Harry sat up from his bed which was quite comfortable. He wanted to go back to sleep in the nice mattress and warm bedsheets. The morning was cold, his feet felt frozen, and he thought he had a slight cold coming on. But somehow he recognized now was not the time. Now there was something important that had to be done. But what?

Mr. White was wearing his white coat, he seemed to do that as some sort of fashion statement perhaps. He wore grey trousers underneath, and a tattered old shirt. He had a wooden stick in his coat pocket. It stuck out like a submarine's periscope.

Mr. White's pale blue eyes scrutinized Harry, so much that he felt uncomfortable. What does this man want?

"Hello, Harry." Mr. White said, and set the birthday cake on a small desk next to the bed. He was obviously not expecting an answer because he was fiddling with something in his white coat pocket. Then he took a lighter out and with a click the flame came on.

"Good morning, Mr. White." Harry said in a squeaky baby voice. Mr. White dropped the lighter in surprise. Harry noticed that the lighter was green. He wasn't sure why this mattered but for some reason it did.

"Ah, Harry, you can speak?" Mr. White asked in surprise. "Most babies can speak when they are two or three but you barely ever speak. And in full sentences, with proper grammar and all…." He picked up the lighter and proceeded to light the small blue candles on the chocolate cake.

There were four candles.

I am four years old, Harry thought disenchanted. How interesting.

"I can speak," Harry said at last. "Today is my birthday?"

"Yes, it is. And around here we celebrate birthdays."

"How come you didn't celebrate any of my earlier birthdays?"

"I thought you were too young to notice it then. Now come, have a slice." Mr. White pulled out two paper plates from his left pocket, and two plastic forks. He cut out a slice with a fork and placed it on the plate. He cut out another one, and handed this one to Harry.

The lighter, Harry noticed, was on the table, propped up against the platter of the cake. Why did his attention keep coming back to the lighter?

"Thank you," Harry said, and methodically cut a small piece of cake with his fork and placed it in his mouth. He chewed without any hint of pleasure. That was because he barely tasted the chocolate cake.

"Now Harry, how would you like to come and live with me?" Mr. White asked. "I always wanted a son, but my late wife…. Well she…." He cleared his throat. He seemed flustered for some reason. "I have a large house on a hill, there's a garden nearby, and a lake too."

"Whatever," Harry said. He took another bite of the cake. This time he concentrated on the flavour and sure enough he could taste it. He savoured the bite. It was good cake.

"You see, Harry, I am retiring from my job as head of this orphanage. I want to… to… finish one of my research projects."

He's lying. Harry thought. But he didn't really care. "If you have enough space for me, I will come with you." Harry said as he placed another piece of cake into his mouth.

"That's wonderful," Mr. White said. He had not touched his cake. And the lighter was still propped up against the platter of the table.

Drugged, Harry thought alarmed. What did that mean? Where had that thought come from? Then he slipped into a sense of vertigo and had a fading sort of feeling before he fell unconscious.

Mr. White had plans for Harry that he had been working on for a long time. But he knew he would have to move fast. He took out his wand and transfigured Harry into a small white bone that looked as small as a tooth. Mr. White grabbed the transfigured bone and slipped it into his pocket. Then he walked out of the orphanage, and did not return. Ever.

He knew where to go, he had planned this very hard for a reason. The reason was to make a profit, and to make a profit you had expenses. Harry was an expense now, but he would make Mr. White a profit very soon.

He walked down the same road the Dursleys had come down on to drop Harry forever, and turned left onto the highway. From there he strolled straight to the Docks where he had already purchased a ticket for himself from the ticket office earlier that week. The waterfront streets were crowded with sailors, business people in a hurry, and a few sight seers. Not as crowded as it would be in the day time, but for now at exactly eight o'clock the crowd was just right.

If there were too many people, he got crowd sick. If there were too little, people noticed him, especially with that doctor sort of coat. Not too little, not too much. That was how he liked his crowds.

The boat he was taking, well a ferry really, was coloured in pure white, Mr. White's favorite colour. Just because white was his favorite colour he wasn't exactly rascist, because he had noticed with his scientific mind that skin colour was really just a pigment of brown. White was pure, if it wasn't pure it wasn't white. Simple as that.

The ship's name was LL SHALIK, and was used to transport goods mostly and passengers only rarely. Mr. White walked on the steel ramp that led to the deck, and from there went straight to the captain's cabin.

"Hank? Hank is that you?" Mr. White asked as he entered. Hank was a short rat faced man with brown teeth and an unshaved beard. He always seemed to be drunk or suffering from a hangover. Excessive drinking was despicable. Mr. White hated bad habits like he hated spots on a pure white block of space. Of course he had his own bad habits but only in moderation. Not too much, not too little.

"Wha-? Oh it's you. Show me your ticket, sonny!"

Mr. White stood straight as he stiffly pulled the ticket from his pocket. "When are we going to get to France exactly?"

"The Port Beulaire? That will be-" He glanced at the clock on the panel of the cabin with bloodshot eyes. "At about three o'clock," He said. "That good?"

"Yes, quite."

"You can get a seat in one of the empty cabins. We ain't on a long voyage so whaddever." He hiccupped and reached on his desk for one of the bottles. There were more bottles on the desk - most of them empty – than there were stars on the sky. He grabbed a bottle and drank a huge gulp. "Go on, you. Geddup an' oudda here."

If Mr. White was a death eater like he used to be in his youth, tough and filled with arrogance, he would have no doubt tortured the man to death. But age and experience had given him patience. Patience lead to success, one of his life's mottos. He had waited three years for Harry to grow a bit, he could wait a little longer and not attract attention.

Mr. White strolled down the deck and picked a cabin in the corner. It was cramped, there was only one bench in it and a few cardboard boxes, and it smelled of tobacco. He got in there, there was a small round window to the side, and he seated himself comfortably. He didn't mind the smell of tobacco, because he smoked a bit himself. Mostly cigars. He pulled a small metal box from one of his coat pockets, picked out a cigar, and then cursed when he remembered he had left the lighter back at the orphanage.

"That's what magic is for," He told himself in amusement and pulled out his wand, used it to light the cigar, and smoked for a while.

Later, when the cigar was half burnt to ashes, he pulled out the bone and danced it between his fingers. "This is going to make me rich," He said. "And powerful too."

Then the accidental magic happened. The bone started to change, quite slowly at first but it picked up speed as it went on like the train he had ridden to Drumstrang when he was a boy.

The bone changed into Harry Potter, whose eyes were watery and glazed a bit. Then the green eyes turned to regard Mr. White with fury. "You!" He spat. "You tricked me."

Mr. White was surprised. He did the first thing that came to mind – what he did in his death eater days a lot when he didn't have the heart to kill. "Obliviate." The red light hit the boy and he fell unconscious.

Uh oh, I think you overdid it. Mr. White said in his mind as Harry slumped to the ground. "Fuck!" He cursed, and threw the cigar to the ground and stomped on it. Doing the memory charm was like riding the bicycle. You never forgot but sometimes you fall down. Mr. White fell down here.

He thought he had done something wrong. Removed a few screws in Harry's brain. And Mr. White was right. He knew what he had done – he had made Harry forget everything. By everything, he meant everything. Harry was like a newborn child again.

Use it to your advantage, a voice whispered in the back corners of his mind. I could use it to my advantage, Mr. White thought. This will make him more bendable to my will. Yes, relax, stop sweating. I can do this…. He changed Harry back into a bone, and stuffed him in his pocket again. Then he lit another cigar. One thing at a time, he told himself as he inhaled deeply.

Mr. White conveniently forgot that sometimes, memory charms are like postage stamps. Sometimes, they just don't stick. And they come off right before the post man is checking the mail. Right at those critical moments.

Mr. White completely forgot about this in his greed and ambition.

Completely.

----------------------

AN: I am planning to write a chapter a day, about 2000 words each. Sometimes I'll do two, sometimes I might not do any. I'll try my best. Now on another matter, I have estimated that this epic fic will be about 80 chapters long. So as this is the third chapter, seventy seven more to go. I hope I hear some comments from you – might get me motivated to write another chapter today.


	4. Harry Potter's Training

Chapter Four – Harry Potter's Training 

When Harry Potter woke up, he had a huge headache behind his ears that pained him terribly. He groaned in distaste as he sat up and examined the dark room he was in. It seemed to be early morning; he decided when he saw the light that came from the dirt stained glass of the window. "Where am I?" He wondered aloud.

Beside him, on a small little desk there was a black tape recorder. The red light on it was on, showing it was playing something. Harry strained his ears – he could make out it was an English tutorial, or something like it.

"Now, say it with me – 'The dog sat on the fence.' Good!" The tape recorder played in a heavy voice with a bit of a German accent.

Harry knew English perfectly, because he had been in this dark room for a week in a state of semi unconsciousness brought on by a special potion Mr. White had given him. Now he sat up, and he felt his bladder was about to explode. He needed to piss real bad. He walked out of the room, barely noticing the rich texture of the hard wood floors, or the drapes and furniture that spoke of luxury and money. He walked across the narrow passage way, opening every door he could find. Most of the rooms were filled with large cartons and boxes. Harry looked inside one out of curiosity and saw they were filled with books – magical books like  
"Beginner's Guide to Dueling" and "How to cook up potions in a jiffy" and stuff like that.

"I can read," Harry said, amazed. He had a blurred memory of a nursery ward where a fat, extremely large woman would read him story books and had taught him to read. It seemed he had not forgotton everything from Mr. White's memory charm; though he did not know about the memory charm.

He continued his journey to find a washroom, and at the end of the hallway there was a window that looked outside on a nice and big field. "The hell with it," Harry muttered and raised the window. Then he took his piss, saying in relief, "Aaah." He walked back to his room, thinking of how strange it was, what a strange situation he was in. One minute he was in a . . . a. . . what was it? He forgot. Orhpa-orphana-something. Oh well, if you forgot something, it wasn't that important anyways. Next minute he was here.

He walked back to his room, got into the cozy covers and dozed off to sleep. He woke up again to someone shaking him. "Get up, boy. Get up!" Mr. White was saying.

Harry clenched his hands into fists and rubbed his eyes, getting rid of the snoot at the edges. "Who are you?" He asked Mr. White.

"My name, Harry, is Mr. White." He said. "You are my grandson." That was a lie. Harry didn't catch on though.

"I am?" Harry asked. "So you are my grandfather?"

"Yes, yes. Now come and have breakfast with me in the kitchen." Mr. White said and walked out of the room. Harry made to follow him but Mr. White put an arm on his shoulder as Harry was exiting the room.

"No, no, Harry. You must wash and clean yourself up. The loo is down the hall and on the corner left. I'll see you down in ten minutes I hope."

"Why-?"

"Oh, Harry, you hit your head a week ago and forgot everything. The doctors call it amnesia. So you have to relearn everything all over again." Mr. White said sadly, though his eyes spoke different. The eyes looked like they didn't care one way or another.

Mr. White went away – down the stairs. Harry went to the loo. The porcelain tiles were sparkling clean, and the place had an air of antiseptic, the smell you get when you go to the hospital or the doctor's office. Harry turned on the golden tap, and water rushed out. It was cold water. Harry cupped his hands and washed his face. He saw a white toothbrush leaning out of a coffee mug to the side, and grabbed it. There was toothpaste in the mug also, a little tube you get on airplanes. He brushed his teeth, washed, dried himself with the fluffy pink towel on the window sill, and went downstairs. He heard sounds of Mr. White singing something –

"When the world turns around, you gotta make your own waaaaay, your own waaaaay, when the world turns around, you gotta get rich your own waaaaay, your own waaaaay. . . "

When Harry entered the white walled, white floored, white stove, white cupboarded kitchen, Mr. White stopped singing, a bit embarrassed. "Here you go, Harry. I made you some pancakes." He was frying two eggs on the pan. There was a batch of crudely made pancakes on a little plate, with blueberries that looked freshly picked, and a jar of jam to the side. There was a fork and a spoon sitting on top of the pancakes in a criss cross fashion like a pirate's flag. "There's some vanilla ice cream in the fridge if you want something on top of that."

"Th-thank you." This felt so strange to Harry for some reason. But why would he feel strange around Grandpa?

"Grandpa?" Harry asked, slowly and cautiously. He was testing the waters right here. "Does anyone else live with us?"

A frown crossed Mr. White's face, but it disappeared quickly under a smile. "No, your parents died when you were a year old, from a dark wizard. Your grandmother died before you were born. Sorry."

"Dark wizard?"

"Oh I forgot, you haven't been initiated yet. Well yes, you know magic right?"

Harry shook his head.

"You are smart for your age, Harry. You'll figure it out."

Harry nodded, picked the plate off the counter and went to the table. The kitchen was very big; the table was gigantic; the chairs were fit for giants. They were purple, very fluffy looking. Harry sat on one, his small legs dangling off the edge of the seat. "Okay," He said quietly and dug into his pancakes.

"Just kidding, Harry. I'll explain everything to you." He came over with his own plate of eggs, ham, and a cup of coffee in his left hand.

"You see," He said, taking a large bite from a silver fork. "There's two kinds of people in this world – magical, and unmagical. We call the last ones muggles."

"Magical? Are you magical?"

"Indeed I am," Mr. White said and laughed at Harry's eager looking face. "So are you, my boy, so are you."

"Can you show me?" Harry asked excitedly.

Mr. White set the mug down and pulled out his wand from his long white coat. He waved it and a bouquet of white lilacs sprouted out. He waved it again and the lilacs changed to a golden phoenix. The phoenix flew around the room, before it changed into a monkey. The monkey squawked angrily, so with another wave of Mr. White's wand, it disappeared.

"Wow," Harry said, wide eyed. "That's amazing. Will you teach me?"

"I sure will, Harry but I am not done explaining. You see in the magical world there is the ministry of magic. They are a bunch of bastards, they are, and there's also the wizengamot, which is a little better. There are three kinds of people in wizarding society – Mud bloods, which are people who are born to non magical parents, half bloods, people who have only one magical parent, and purebloods, people who have two magical parents. The half bloods are the best of the lot in my opinion because you get a bit of this and a bit of that."

"Am I a half blood?" Harry asked.

"Yes you are. So am I as a matter of fact. Now back to the explanation. You see in the wizarding world, gold is the highest priced commodity. Whoever has gold has power, and freedom. Now the purebloods have a lot of gold and it is our job to take their gold, being half bloods and all."

"But isn't that stealing?"

"No we aren't stealing. They will give us gold if we do odd jobs for them."

"What kind of odd jobs?"

"My aren't you smart. Only four years old and asking the right questions. Odd jobs as in killing people."

Harry blanched. "Killing people?"

"Oh relax, its perfectly alright. Darwinism and what not. Evolution. The best survive and the weak die. You have to accept that, my boy. It's a harsh cruel world, and people die all the time."

Harry stayed silent for a few minutes as he digested all this along with pancakes. "I get it," He said slowly.

"Good lad. I am personally too old to do odd jobs anymore, but I will teach you how to do them. You are a smart lad, I told you that didn't I?"

"Yea," Harry said brightening, and flushing a bit in embarrassment.

"So you will pick up things very easily. But I must warn you, in this line of work, things are not easy."

"What do you mean?"

"There is a lot of risk involved."

"Oh, okay. Did my parents do this?"

"You bet, they were the masters." Mr. White lied like a master himself.

"Then I want to do it too."

"Wonderful. We'll start training you right after breakfast. One thing though, doing these odd jobs is illegal. Those ministry bastards don't like us since they are usually the targets. So if you see anyone don't tell them about it, okay?"

"'kay." Harry said. "Good pancakes."

"They are, aren't they?" Mr. White beamed. "I made 'em myself."

"What kind of training?"

"The works, my boy. The works. Everything you ever need to know. I'll teach you dueling – we have to get your wand first, and I'll teach you potions and how to do rituals. I know a couple buddies, muggle ones, who will teach you martial arts and sword fighting and weapons. Some of my magical friends will give you a crash course in the dark arts."

"When can I start doing odd jobs?" Harry asked, eagerly. "I want to do my parents proud because they were masters at this."

"Good lad. Good lad." Mr. White finished his breakfast and pulled out a cigar. He lit it with his wand. "I think you will be ready in three years at the most. What do you think?"

"Really, only three years?" Harry asked, eyes showing excitement.

"You bet. This will all be a crash course. Basically I'll force everything you need to know into you and fast too. Normally it takes about fifteen years to get good, but your father did it in five years."

"What about my mum?" Harry asked.

"She was a muggle born. She learnt from your dad." Mr. White was spinning a web of lies, and he loved this.

"You said that a dark wizard killed them…?"

"Yes, they attempted something too big for them to chew on alone. But they succeeded. This dark wizard is dead and gone for good so don't worry about a thing. Though it cost their lives to do it."

"Wow," Harry said. "That's amazing."

"Yeah, it is."

"So I can become a –" Harry looked up. "What do you call people who do this?"

"Assassins, Harry. You are going to be a boy wonder, an assassin of the highest degree, and your greatest advantage will be your youth. Never forget that."

"I won't." Harry said.

"I bet, from just looking into your eyes, that you are really smart. They call boys like you a prodigy. That's what you are Harry, a magical prodigy."

"Really?"

"Yes. You pick things up faster than other boys your age. But there is a downside to this, to being an assassin."

"What is it?"

"You will be lonely. It's a one man job most of the time, there is no team in assassin."

"That's okay," Harry said. "If my parents did it, I can too."

"Good lad." He took a deep pull from his cigar. "One day, you are going to grow up to be a fine young man, and you will be a respectable member of society… one day. When that day comes, I'll be right there behind you. Never forget that. I'll always be with you," Mr. White said seriously.

"You are like a son to me," This time he wasn't lying.

"Or a grandson," Harry joked.

"Or a grandson." Mr. Whiten nodded, laughing along with him. He reached over and ruffled Harry's hair. "Come on, let's get you out of those ridiculous pajamas, and into something good. We'll go shopping first, get you some decent equipment from a magical town close by that I know well – wands, clothes, robes, potion ingredients, cauldrons, knives, stuff like that. Then I'll get started on making a course outline for you and then…"

And so Harry's training started. For three years he trained in furious intensity, getting less than five hours of sleep at night, going on determination and grit alone. He really wanted to be like his parents.

He discovered he was in a villa in the Northern part of France, somewhere in the mountains where it was very cold. But Mr. White brought people to him, and aside from his daily two hour jogs around the compound he never ventured outside.

He learnt from various instructors that Mr. White paid for from his own pocket – How to fight like one of those olden days ninjas in Japan, how to duel like a serious assassin, and his best arsenal, how to cast the unforgivables. Imperio was his favorite, because he was immune. He tried to cast it once on Mr. White, but grandpa just shrugged it off with ease and put Harry under the crucio for a four hours nonstop. Harry never tried the imperio or any other curse for that matter (outside of their daily spars and duels) on Mr. White again in his three year long training.

Truth be told, Mr. White frightened him, and awed him as well. He was everything Harry wanted to be and more. Smart, cold blooded, one of the best at dueling and dark rituals, and more… He was grandpa, the best retired assassin in the world, Harry thought.

Three years later, it was time for his first job. He was short and looked very young, but his muscles were small and taut, extremely strong, his green eyes had a hardened look that comes from dwelling in the dark arts for too long, and shadows and bags under his eyes. His hair was spiky, he wore long black coats, an opposite of grandpa's, a thing grey t-shirt under that, blue jeans, and black dragon hide boots. Around his neck there was a medallion that when grasped would let him communicate instantly with Mr. White. This was for his missions. He also were a dragon tooth wrist bracelet. The main purpose of this was to enhance his magical energy, which dragon teeth did extremely well.

Finally after three years of hard, hard, work, he was an assassin.

Albeit a seven year old one.

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AN: Hey guys. Thanks for the reviews, I love it. I was reading them this morning and I thought, I have to get this new chapter in asap. If you leave a review, you help motivate me. Really! Now since this is the fourth chapter, and I am right on track with my outline for this epic fic, I must tell you the good news. Yup, you probably guessed it, but there are only 76 more chapters to go. LOL, wish me luck! -Tridentwatch


	5. Drawing First Blood

I have no life so I update fast. Any tips to getting one?

Chapter Five – Drawing first blood

* * *

Harry jogged around the compound once, twice, then another time, before hitting the haystack for a morning nap. After at around eight in the morning he headed down for breakfast where he saw Mr. White.

"Hello, grandpa." Harry said. "How are you this morning?"

"Fine Harry. Ready for your special day?"

"My first job?"

"Yeah."

"I am ready."

"Good that was what I wanted to hear. Now what is the motto for us assassins?"

"Always always always always plan your stuff out before you execute anything."

"Good boy, you did your homework last night."

"Yeah Grandpa I did."

"Okay today I have a job for you. Your first blood. The client is Mr. Lucius Malfoy. He has hired us to dispose of Mr. Ernesto. You know who he is?"

"The competitor to Fudge in the race for minister of magic?"

"Good you read those newspapers like I told you to."

"That's right grandpa. I sure did." Harry said as he ate his breakfast.

"Okay, so first thing first, you need to know the what?"

"The layout. So I go into the ministry and track out Mr. Ernesto's patterns for about…?"

"A week should be fine Harry." Mr. White said. "That way you can see his pattern and plan out your route of escape and route of attack."

"Okay, grandpa."

"Now, what next?"

"The attack?"

"That's right. Next up you have to select your modus opperandi. That is your?"

"Mode of operation."

"Correct." Mr. White said. "Sometimes the client selects it for you, and this time Malfoy has selected for you."

"What is it?"

"You have to shoot Mr. Ernesto in the head with a pistol. A muggle one. Remember I taught you that a year ago?"

"I remember grandpa."

"Good lad. Now you sneak up to him, shoot him in the head with a pistol and get the hell outta there." Mr. White said. "How do you do the latter?"

"Get out of there?"

"Yeah."

"I would take a lot of detours to throw off my pursuers and then I would head back over here."

"Excellent. You had a good nights sleep?"

"Yes sir."

"Good that's the number one golden rule."

"Always have a good nights sleep before heading out on a mission," Harry echoed. "I remember."

"Okay, now get into your training gear and-" Mr. White stopped. "I forgot one more thing. You need a disguise."

"A disguise?"

"So nobody recognizes you."

"I get it. Can I make my own?"

"Okay sure. As long as it covers your face."

Harry waved his wand and conjured a green mask with gold feathers running across the sides. "How's this?"

"It will work. I won't come with you on this one, you will have to do it alone. Can you do it?"

"I sure can, I will do anything to be like my parents."

"Good, any questions?"

"Yes, how come it says in the newspapers my parents was unemployed?"

"Just a cover story, lad." Mr. White said. "Just a cover story for their real jobs."

"Oh okay, I see."

"Now get to it."

"Sure, gramps." Harry went to his room and changed into black battle robes. He put on his mask. Then he went back to the kitchen.

"Make yourself invisible when you go scouting. Remember that, okay Harry?"

"Sure, gramps."

"Good luck my boy."

Harry nodded and made himself invisible with a wordless spell. Then he apparrated out to the ministry building which was very big and painted white outside. He entered in and went to the top floors until he saw Mr .Ernesto. He recognized it from the pictures in the newspaper.

Mr. Ernesto was a Spannish immigrant who had come to Britain. He was running for minister and his main competitor was Cornelius Fudge. Harry's job was to take out Mr. Ernesto so Fudge would have clear access to Minister of Magic position. Easy as cake.

He followed Mr. Ernesto around all day and never got noticed. He tracked down Mr. Ernesto's route, and his daily schedule and habits and wrote them down in a purple diary he bought at a muggle dollar store in America on one of his scouting trips with Grandpa. After one week was over, he transfigured himself into a muggle, went to America and bought a .44 magnum with a fake driver's license he had conjured. He apparrated back to Britain and followed Mr. Ernesto around for one more day.

Then when he made sure he had everything right, he walked up to Mr. Ernesto at a coffee shop and took off his invisibility charm.

"Huh? What the hell?" Mr. Ernesto said.

"Good bye," Harry said and took aim and shot Mr. Ernesto straight in the head. Boom, he died, there was lots of blood on the floor. Good thing he was in a coffee shop in muggle London and not in the ministry of magic. This was an easy mission. He apparrated to Hogsmaede, then to London, then in front of the Ministry, then to Poland, then to Russia, then back home to the compound. Mission success!

When he went back in, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, and dead tired, he smiled when he saw Mr. White. "Mission success, grandpa."

"Really? I knew you could do it."

"What is Malfoy paying us?"

"Ten thousand galleons. Easy money compared to more tougher jobs you will get."

"Great. Five for you five for me?"

"That's how we roll my boy." Mr. White agreed and took out a bag of gold coins. He split it evenly on the kitchen table.

"What are you going to buy with your money?" Harry asked.

"Prostitues and hoes, you?"

"Same for me." Harry had taken growth potions so his pecker was long and his hormones were working over time.

"No drugs okay?"

"No drugs, because they rot out your body and hinder your assassination techniques. Only when I retire like you."

"Good lad," Mr. White said and ruffled Harry's hair. "Now let's go to the red light district."

They went to their regular hang out and ordered two French Blondies. They went to separate rooms and had themselves some nice fucks. Then they went to THE ALLEYWAY and got a few weapons and a lot of candy for Harry.

All in all it was a good day, and Harry's first kill too.

Harry rested for about two months, just training and getting back in shape, and of course celebrating his recent success. But then got restless.

"Can I have another mission?" He kept asking Mr. White until he finally caved in and got one more.

"This is not how it goes. You have to relax for at least six months before another one but since you seem so eager I am not complaining."

This time the target was a rich pureblood surrounded by bodyguards twenty four seven. The pureblood's name was Lucius Malfoy.

Fudge hired Harry the Assassin this time. It's funny how karma comes back to bite you.

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Only seventy five chapters to go. Like my new writing style? Two parts dialogue one part narration. Anyways please review!


	6. The New Job

Chapter Six – The New Job

"Harry, we got us a new job." Mr. White said one day over a cigar and a cup of coffee. Harry was eating a ham sandwich.

"What is it?"

"A better question would be who is our client," Mr. White admonished.

"Ok, sorry. Who is our client?" Harry asked.

"Fudge, Cornelius Fudge, newly made Minister of Magic. What do you think of that?"

"I don't really care."

"That's what I thought, well I don't either. But you should know who our target is first…"

"Who is it?"

"Lucius Malfoy."

"What?" Harry asked, wide eyed. "That was our previous client. What do we do?"

"We take the job," Mr. White said.

Harry eyed him incredulously. "What?"

"And we add our own spin to it."

"What are you talking about?"

"This is another part of our business Harry," Mr. White said and crushed the cigar into the ground. They were sitting on the porch, watching the sunrise. Harry had a plate on his lap, and a glass of milk beside him. Mr. White had a cup of coffee and a pack of cigars, from which he took another one out and lit up.

"Please elaborate," Harry said at last.

"This is called negotiation. Now, Fudge is paying us 30 grand of galleons."

"Wow, that's huge!"

"Yes, one of the highest prices you could get. Now what do you think Malfoy would pay us to get rid of Fudge?"

Harry was amazed. "I bow, grandfather, I bow to the master."

Mr. White ruffled his black hair, "Good boy. So here's your job: Intimidate Malfoy into paying us more."

"Then we can go back to Fudge and ask more than what Malfoy is giving him?"

Mr. White laughed. "You are learning fast, m'boy. In this business gold is at the top. Whoever can pay up can buy us. Got it?"

"Yes sir. Can I go to Malfoy and…?"

"Sure thing," Mr. White said. "That's your job since you are my apprentice and all but now you need to know the most important thing of all."

"What is it, grandpa?"

"You must never, NEVER, ever get recognized. If you do, we will have hundreds of killers on our tail. Aurors they are called, got it?"

"Yes sir. I'll wear a mask."

Mr. White groaned. "Not that hideous green thing again."

"But I like that mask!"

"It's horrible."

"But-"

"Fine whatever, keep that mask. Just be scary, okay?"

"That I can do!" Harry said and snarled.

Mr. White groaned. "You look like a fucking pig. Just… stay quiet and give Malfoy this letter. Don't say a word and keep your wand pointed straight at his heart." He conjured parchment and quil and wrote a letter. Harry read it quickly.

DEAR LUCIUS MALFOY – WE ARE HIRED TO KILL YOU FOR A SUM OF 30 000 GALLEONS. DO YOU HAVE A COUNTER OFFER? IF SO, NOD YOUR HEAD IN THREE SECONDS. IF NOT YOU WILL DIE A PAINFUL DEATH. AS SOON AS YOU FINISH READING THIS, THE PARCHMENT WILL BURN AWAY.

The parchment burned away in Harry's hand. Mr. White groaned again. "Don't read it, brat." He said and swatted Harry on the head.

"Ow!" Harry moaned as he clutched his head.

"Stop whining, here's another one." Mr. White handed it to him in an envelope. "Now get to business. First thing first, scout the manor for any traps. Here's the address."

He gave Harry apparration coordinates. Harry got dressed, invisibled himself with a cool spell he learnt the other day, and apparrated out of the compound. He stood on the front lawn of the manor awed and amazed at the size of it.

The manor looked good. Rich, very rich. Think of how much it would cost to get one of these? Harry thought, and drooled at the mouth. The manor was about fifty metres tall, had four floors, and was pinkish. It had a fountain in the middle of the lawn, and lots of flowers surrounding it. The gate was pure gold, with a big M on top that was of a pale jade green material. The manor road was asphalt, and patterned into snakes and dragons and gryphons. The markings and the artwork was astounding. Harry walked up to the gate and….

Sensed a ward.

"Those bastards, a trick burglar ward." There were more wards all over the place, Harry guessed. He thought back to how to get into warded areas. He had learnt a long time ago…

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

Flashback

TTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

"The trick to getting into warded places is to turn yourself into an animal. People never suspect animals when they make wards. So see, all warders are stupid. In fact everyone's stupid except assassins like us. Remember that Harry," Mr. White said while they were in his library, sitting over a pile of old books.

"Okay sir," Harry said. "How do we turn into an animal?"

"That's the hard part, you have to be an animagus."

"Okay so show me how."

Mr. White swatted him on the head. "You can't be an animagus easily boy, it takes years and years. Not worth it. Stupid boy, read more!"

"Okay, sorry sir."

"Now I know you are mad at me for hitting you but its for your own good. Remember that Harry."

"Yes sir," Harry said quietly.

"Okay so you want to learn how to be an animal…" Mr. White took a deep pull from his cigar and let the smokey air lose in Harry's tiny face.

"Well there's something called potions. That's what you have to learn real well, potions. Once you know how to brew hard potions – and quickly too, like in ten minutes tops – then you will truly master the art of assassination."

"Okay sir, so you can make potions that will turn you into animals?"

"Precisely." Mr. White said, "It's all in the potions. Now since you don't have skill in potions, and you probably never will, you will need to learn to BUY potions."

"From where? Last time I checked they don't sell that stuff in the wizard market."

"Black markets, Harry. Illegal markets, because potions like these are illegal."

"Where are the black markets?"

"It's not where, Harry, its who. And the best potion makers are usually vampires… They are immortal and have the patience to make good ones."

"So we got to the vampires?"

"Excellent, you are learning."

That day, late in the evening, they apparrated to a huge castle. Everything looked like one of those castles in movies, like the black and white Dracula movie Mr. White had shown him one day as a treat when he had learnt to shake off the imperio curse. Everything looked like it did in that movie.

They went into a huge chamber and stood in front of a long narrow table made of red wood that looked like blood. Behind the table, there were very old vampires who stared at the two in disgust.

"Yes? What do you what, younglings?" One of the oldest vampires said.

Mr. White cleared his throat. "We came here to buy potions from you."

"I see." He had a very crisp, all business no play accent. "That will cost you. How many?"

"Twenty bottles of animagi potions and twenty bottles of speed potions."

Speed potions, as Mr.White had explained earlier, enhanced your speed and endurance. Harry would have to take it when dueling, so he could outduel top security guards who had years of experience in the field.

"That's only until you get better yourself, Harry. Then you won't need to take speed. Until then, you're screwed." Mr. White said.

"I understand, sir, it's okay."

"Good boy."

Back to the vampires.

"I see," The old vampire said. "And how much are you willing to pay?"

Mr. White grandly took out a bag of galleons. "Four thousand galleons will be enough?"

The vampires whispered in shock. The old vampire seemed much more respectful now, "Thank you sir, that sounds very good." He snapped his fingers and two vampires came out of a door Harry hadn't seen before. "Here you go sir." A small teenage boy said. He was obviously a vampire. He held a rack out, there were potions bottles on the rack. The rack was long.

The colour of the top half of the potions were blue, and the bottom half, speed, was yellow. Pale yellow that looked like piss. Harry hated it on sight.

"The animagus potions will change you into a rabbit. Sorry that is the best we can do on such short notice." The vampire said. "Thank you, please come again at any time."

"Right, thank you Leader of the Vampires." Mr. White said and bowed. The Leader of the Vampires bowed back.

Later, Harry was always equipped with two potions, an animagi potion and a speed potion.

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End Flashback

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Harry took the animagi potion in big gulps. Instantly he changed into a rabbit. With a thought, he changed back into Harry. Then into a rabbit again. This was the first time he had taken such a potion and he was amazed. The rabbit was pure white in colour and had green eyes. It also had better sense of sight and smell that the human Harry did not.

The rabbit slipped past the gold bars of the gate and into the lawn of the manor. Then it circled the manor until it saw an open window and jumped in. The window was in the downstairs servants bathroom. A pale, shriveled house elf was taking a dump.

"AAAAAH! A RABBIT OIN MOI MANSION?" The house elf screamed. "OIL SAVE YERE MANSION!" It tried to grab the rabbit in its grubby hands and strangle it no doubt.

Harry leapt back, changed into a human, and stunned the house elf without a word but with his heart beating rapidly. Then he tied the house elf up in ropes of metal and made him stick to the wall. Just in case. Harry was taking no chances.

He grabbed his wand in his hand and said, "Point me Lucius Malfoy." The wand, an ebony coloured one that had wood of palm tree, and heart of toad, a weird combination, spun fast in circles.

Then it stopped, pointing east. Harry took the door and entered a long corrider. It took him some time to find Lucius's big office but he did and luckily nobody saw him. If they did he would have had had to do what he did to the poor insane house elf.

The wand hummed as he came to the end of the stair case and went down a corridor. There was a large oak door and a gold plaque, and written on it were the words that Harry wanted to see.

In silvery block letters it said: OFFICE. "This is it," Harry said aloud and spun his wand in a circle. The door blasted inward. Harry entered, footsteps thudding, a conjured black cloak sweeping behind him. He was wearing a pure black mask, and his eyes…

They were red. He had changed it himself to add a scarier touch to his image. It worked it seemed. When the door was blasted, Harry saw that Malfoy was surrounded with guards of all sorts. Skinny ones, fat ones, scary ones, dumb ones. It seemed to be a meeting, a reinstated death eater meeting.

"What? Who are you?" Malfoy said. "What are you doing here in my house?"

Harry walked up to him. The crowd parted. There were some old looking wizards and witches in there. Some young ones too. Most of them were middle aged. They all wore black robes.

Harry handed Lucius the parchment that Mr. White had given him. The little message. As Lucius read it, the color drained from his face, turning it the same colour as an egg.

"No…" He gasped. Harry quickly raised his wand and pointed it at Malfoy's scared face.

"Wait! Wait!" Lucius said and nodded quickly. The others had pulled their wands out. The parchment burned away. Lucius quickly dropped it. "Okay I'll get you your gold. I'll give you…."

"Fifty thousand galleons. How does that sound?"

Harry shook his head. "More is needed."

"Err, Sixty thousand?"

Harry nodded. "That is good." He said. "Pay up."

Lucius went to the back of the office, and lifted up a very big painting of a house. Under the painting was a safe. He opened the lock, and took out three brown bags. There were thousands of bags in that room which looked like an expanded closet.

"Here, there's twenty thousand in each bag." Lucius said nervously.

Harry had an idea. He nodded, and lifted his palm. "Put it on the table." He said, and pulled out the pale yellow potion from his belt. The one that looked like piss. He drank it all up and felt his body changing. To the others Harry seemed to be a blur.

Then Harry moved, quickly too, and felt little to no resistance for his plan. He swung his wand in an arc to the left, unloosening a huge red cutting curse that killed half the people in the room. At the same time he punched and kicked the other half into submission, using his martial arts skills. Lucius watched all this with horror.

When the crowd was all dead, well most of them anyway, Harry walked up to Lucius. "I don't like you Malfoy." He said. He was not the same height as any of them, barely reached their waist. He jumped up and took out his utility knife from his belt in mid air and slashed Lucius's throat. Blood squirted out and got on Harry's robes.

Harry knew he had to work fast. He conjured a bottomless bag, and summoned all the gold in Malfoy's vault to the bag. There were thousands of bags and they all flew at lightning speed inside Harry's pitless one. Harry grinned. This was probably the biggest heist in history. He was going to be rich! And famous! Grandpa would love this!

Then he put the bottomless bag filled with gold into his robe pocket, and changed into a rabbit again. The animagi potion worked for twenty minutes, the speed potion worked for one minute. Both of them needed a week cooldown before they could be used again, so Harry wasn't exactly invincible. He bounded across the halls and back into the bathroom he had come in. The elf was there, chained up and groaning in pain. Harry took pity, changed into a human and unloosened the elf.

The elf hugged him. Harry dropped his wand in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Thank you, thank you thank you!"

What the hell, thought Harry. "Um, okay."

The elf was a tricky one though. It had a small knife strapped to its wrist. He had felt his master die and was naturally very angry. His name was Kreaper. He unloosened the knife as he was hugging Harry and stabbed the boy in the back, right into the most dangerous place ever: The spinal cord.

The knife was coated with poison. African Boomslang venom, a very dangerous snake indeed.

Harry gasped, blood spurted out of his mouth as he kicked the elf away. He had been attacked! All he knew was he had to get to the manor quickly. Already his eyes felt droopy. The knife must have had venom in it! He stunned the elf quickly with a silent curse. He changed into a rabbit and jumped out of the window, vowing revenge on the elf if they ever crossed paths again.

In his haste, the bag with all the gold was accidently dropped in the washroom, next to the stunned house elf.

He ran across the lawns and through the golden bars of Gate Malfoy and changed into a human again. Waving hi wand he apparrated to America, then apparrated to the manor. It didn't pay to be careless, even if his body functions were slowing down and he was dead tired.

He changed into a rabbit at the outskirts of the compound, and since rabbits are faster than humans, he got inside quicker. As he opened the main door back in human form, his vision blackened and he fell… thankfully… into the arms of the surprised Mr. White.

His last thought was, "At least I have the gold."

When in fact he did not.

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AN: I got to take a dump. I'll start working on the next one after. Here's some more info on African Boomslangs from wikiepedia:

Many members of the family Colubridae that are considered venomous are essentially harmless to humans, because they either have small venom glands, relatively weak venom, or an inefficient system for delivery of venom. However, the boomslang is a notable exception in that it has a highly potent venom, which it delivers through large fangs that are located in the rear of the jaw[1. The venom of the boomslang is primarily a haemotoxin. It disables the blood clotting process and the victim may well die as a result of internal and external bleeding.[1[5 Other signs and symptoms include: headache, nausea, sleepiness and mental disorders. Because the venom is slow to act, symptoms may not be manifest until many hours after the bite. Unless of course injected in a vital part of the human body, like the heart, or the spinal cord. On the one hand, this provides time for procuring the serum, while on the other hand it may lead victims to underestimate the gravity of being bitten. (Snakes of any species can on occasion fail to inject venom when they bite and after a few hours without ill-effect the victim may fall into the error of supposing that the injury was not serious).

An adult boomslang has 4-8 milligrams of venom. 5 milligrams is said to be enough to kill a man.

In 1957, well-known herpetologist Karl Schmidt died after being bitten by a boomslang. D.S. Chapman states that between 1919 and 1962 there were eight serious human envenomations by boomslangs, two of which were fatal. The South African Vaccine Producers (formerly South African Institute of Medical Research) manufactures a monovalent antivenom for use in boomslang envenomations.

The boomslang is a timid snake and bites generally occur only when people attempt to handle, catch or kill the animal. The above data suggest that boomslangs are unlikely to be a significant source of human fatalities throughout their distribution range, so they can hardly be regarded as a threat to mankind. However there has been a history of assassinations, mainly five centuries and before where the assassins used boomslang venom to coat their weapons. In modern history, this has rarely been used.

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	7. The Healing Process

Chapter Seven – The Healing Process 

When Harry fell into Mr.White's arms, Mr. White had never been so shocked. Well not shocked, not really because he knew something like this would happen eventually. Harry was a fucking assassin for goddam sakes, he would have to be topped someday. Some part of Mr. White was glad actually, the insecure part that felt Harry was outdoing him, but the other part of Mr. White, the very very small part, the part that had all the goodness and morality and ethics was scared. That part loved Harry Potter like a father would, and no father wants his son to die in his arms, right?

"Harry! What happened?"

Harry looked up, his face whitish, tinged with green, his eyes bloodshot red, "I-" He croaked out, and spurted out black blood on Mr. White's coat. "I failed, grandpa." He said, and his breath was a struggle. Every word had been a struggle, they striked right at Harry's heart and ego, cutting it away.

"Hush, hush, child. I'll get you better, don't worry." Mr. White said and carried Harry to the sofa. The profitable part of Mr. White was screaming inside his brain. "Get rid of the boy and run! You already have a few thousand galleons. And the aurors won't catch you if you scram." But Mr. White didn't run.

Instead he went to the fireplace, a horrendous green thing with gold streaks on the sides like one of Harry's masks. Instead of feeling the usual disgust pop up however, Mr. White felt… sad. Maybe a bit of nostalgia, but definitely not disgust. He sighed wearily, took the brown pot of flue powder from the upper cabinet above the fireplace and opened it. The pot was half full with white powder. Half empty, Mr. White instinctively thought.

"No… half full." He was in shock, he recognized the symptoms but he didn't know why. It was just the boy remember? His cash cow, his profit machine. Get rid of those sentimental thoughts, Mr. White commanded to himself. He grabbed a handful of the white flue powder and flung it into the fireplace.

The fire inside was orange and red, now it changed into green. Mr. White called out, "Vampire Manor." Not a very original name for the vampires considering they had eternity practically to think of a good name, but for each their own.

A head popped up, slowly and gracefully, the head of the Leader of the Vampires, who took all flue messages. Vampires could communicate on their own through the use of bats, very fast flying creatures, much better than owls or even hawks and so had no need of flue. They had patience and they could wait. Outsiders however, with their lives being blinks of the eye to the enormous lives of the vampires, could not. Thus it fell upon the leader of the vampires to take all outside flue calls.

"Hello?" The Leader said in a chipped and very business-like tone.

"Leader of the Vampires!" Mr. White said urgently. "I have a situation that has propped up, I need your help."

"In what matter?"

"My boy… Harry… is poisoned. Do you mind if I bring him over to your medics?"

"Our medics treat vampires only," The Leader said, not unkindly. He could see where this was going, and the place it was going was the place all deals with Mr. White went.

Gold.

"I have money, two thousand galleons if you can heal the boy!"

"Bring him in," The vampire said. His red eyes gleamed with cunningness, and his hooked, hawk like nose furthered that greedy look. Mr. White knew how to deal alright. He knew what worked around here, what motivated half-beasts. Vampires, werewolves, banshees, they were all the same. Since they couldn't get normal jobs, they had an enormous need for gold to fuel and fund their little cities and communities.

Mr. White nodded, and said, "Thank you. You will not regret it." He went back to the living room, picked up Harry who he saw with some uncomfortableness that he was moaning now, and sweat beads lined his forehead, face, and neck. His skin had taken on an unearthly green tinge, like a dead body. Mr. White almost ran to the fireplace, threw in some more flue and plunged in, with Harry and all.

They entered a small room that was empty. There was nothing in here except cobwebs, hard wood floors, and dusty white walls. At once, Mr. White hated the room, but he didn't know why. The door opened with the click of a latch on the outside. The crinkle and crackle of the fire behind him died away. The Leader of the Vampires entered, giving Mr. White a high honor. Personal acquaintance.

"Mr. White, pleasure to do business with you again. If you will leave Mr. Potter on the floor-"

"You know?" Mr. White asked, a bit shocked and worried.

"Of course we do, but don't fear. We won't tell… for a price."

Mr. White nodded his head, not liking the greedy vampires one bit. But business was business and the vampires had their own sense of honor. They would never go back on a business deal. Reputation was everything to half-beasts, because a bad reputation got you no business and that meant zero food. It made you starve.

"He has been attacked, there is a knife wound in the back. I think he's poisoned but…" He shrugged.

"Don't worry, I have three hundred years of medical experience. During that time, before I became a warrior for the rebellion, I studied hard in The Shack's old books section." The Leader said. "I know all about poisons."

The Shack was a local library available for wizards and witches, and all sorts of other creatures. A local philanthropist created the store about four hundred years ago, a rebel goblin who had stolen a fortune from Gringotts, then hid away in this part of France. So far, no half breed had tattled on the goblin because they all had their own honor. The goblin's name was Thrall. The goblin was well respected for his efforts to the half breed community.

"So you know what this is?"

"No. No I do not. This boy does not have much time to live. Twenty more minutes tops. Now, I have several antidotes but I will need to test them in muggle labs to see which poison is in Harry's bloodstream. It's a long process, so I suggest…. Well, its going to be very expensive to heal this boy. I suggest, as a business man to another business man, let go of this venture. I know what you have been doing-"

"You know?"

"Of course. Vampires know everything. That's our business, and we will keep our mouths shut… for a price."

"Yeah, a price. Look, how much is it going to cost you to fix this boy up. Make him live, and in top condition?"

"Fourteen thousand. Two thousand for the antidotes, four thousand for the muggle lab tests, six thousand for rent in the medic ward where Potter is going to be staying, and safety from the other vampires will be two thousand."

"That comes up to only ten thousand."

"Four thousand for profit."

"Oh you have got to be kidding me… You're running a fucking scam."

"You aren't in a position to bargain, Mr. White. Either you take the offer, or the boy dies."

"And if I give you the money the boy will live?"

"Certainly. I have a few ideas," The vampire said. "That I will be willing to use."

"Money first?"

"As usual," The vampire agreed. "Go back and get me the fee, and I'll make sure your boy will be healed.

"Okay, okay," Mr. White said at last. "I get you, I will do this."

"Good."

Mr. White turned backward, and saw the fireplace had already been started. "Flue powder?"

The vampire handed him an old shoebox, stuffed to the brim with white flue powder. "That will cost you a galleon extra."

Mr. White rolled his eyes. "Fourteen thousand and one then," He said. "The Compound." He called out as the fire turned green and then he jumped in.

He went back to the manor and knew he didn't have fourteen thousand galleons. Not on him certainly. But the manor was filled with valuables, being his family home and all that. He conjured a bottomless bag and filled it with old books, valuable dishware, jewelry, clothes, and everything he could get his hands on. Then finally he went to the safe vault where he took out the last of the ten thousand galleons him and Harry had spent so fast. Now he wished he hadn't.

There was only two thousand left. He stuffed that in his right coat pocket. Then he went back to the fireplace, threw in a handful of flue powder and jumped in.

Back in the room of the vampires.

Mr. White was seated in the corner. Two vampires stood guard on either side of the door, not letting Mr. White into the hallway, and not letting curious vampires in either. The old Leader of the Vampires was bent over Harry, who was strapped to a little metal platform. The old vampire had muggle equipment around him, test tubes, injections, pills, thermometers, stuff like that.

"I have given him a dose of the draught of living death. That should be enough to buy us some time to find out what poison he has been injected with."

"That's a smart idea, Leader." Mr. White admitted.

"Everything in your bag comes to thirteen thousand galleons, on modern scale prices. If you like you could check yourself."

"No, I trust your honor in business dealings."

"Good. You have one thousand galleons to pay us, on debit."

"With interest?"

"With ten percent interest rates, yes."

Mr. White nodded. "Just heal the boy," He said wearily. "And I'll find your money."

The vampire nodded.

For the next four days, the Leader of the Vampires spent it in testing Harry's blood to find out which poison was used on him. Mr. White didn't stay all day, he went back to his manor to brood and read, mostly about poisons and most of all think.

He had to get centered on his goals again, his ambitions. Thankfully this did not take long for Mr. White. He read a lot in those four days and visited Harry in the morning, just to see. It just felt right that he should do something like that.

"So how is Harry doing?" He said on the fourth day. Harry looked to be dead, but he was taking the draught of living death so the poison wouldn't spread around too much. And that would give the vampire enough time to make antidotes.

"I know the name of the poison, it's venom from the snake: African Boomslang. Now I need to find such a snake and take its venom."

"Snakes huh? I know a place to get an African Boomslang."

"I'm sure. If you would be so kind?"

"To do you job? No problem… for a price." Mr. White had a certain vindictive pleasure to look upon the old Leader of the Vampire's face.

"No, no need. Since there is no deadline attached, I am sure I could-"

"Oh bloody hell, I'll get you the damned snake for free." Mr. White said angrily as he exited Vampire Manor from the fireplace. "Damn greedy bastards," He muttered under his breath.

The vampire smirked.

Mr. White went to Westview Road. It was a wizarding town much like Diagon Alley but this place was a tad bit darker. At the back of the road there was a small and dark shop. There was an old yellow sign that said in emerald green letters, 'Ye Olde Snake Shop'

It was run by a banshee, Gleden the banshee to be exact. Gleden skinny and old but she looked young. The skin on her face glowed blue, very taut and youthful.She had a forked tongue. She was dressed in pale blue robes, tattered and torn robes that had no inch of dirt on them. The robes glowed mystically, her eyes also glowed mystically, and her silky hair had enchanted many young men who had a taste of the exotic. The forked tongue especially.

Mr. White being one of them when he was a young man, a death eater to be sure, but young nonetheless.

"Gleden, my lady," Mr. White simpered as he entered her shop. Around him there were stacks and stacks of cages, all over the place set about in a disorderly mess. Inside were snakes of every variety, purpletooth stranglers, to venomous half-spiders half-snakes. They all hissed at him when he entered the store.

"Georgey?"

Mr. White winced. He hated his first name.

"Yes Gleden, I came to visit you at last."

She came out from the back of her store, looking as she had when he was young. He felt his heart race a bit, a hint from his past.

"It's been a while." Her voice had a ghostly rattle that always sent shivers down 'Georgey' White's neck.

"Yes it has." Mr. White agreed. "Listen, I came to get a snake from you actually. "

"Oh I see," Gleden said coldly. "You don't love me anymore do you?"

"No, no I do. I do." Mr. White said.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Then kiss me."

To kiss a banshee was death. They would suck out your voice and turn you into a banshee just like themselves. Mr. White did not particularly want that. "Some other time, maybe."

The banshee sighed. "It's the same with every man, Georgey. That's why I don't date anymore."

"Err, of course." Mr. White said and cleared his throat. "Now I want an African Boomslang… if you will?"

"Oh yes, right." Gleden said. "Not many customers either. Now when you were not even born… oh snakes were the fad then. But I can't bear to leave because if I do, the snakes will die!"

"You have enough to err… pay for your… rent?" Banshees didn't need food.

"Nobody asks," Gleden said, shrugging.

"Okay then."

Gleden went to the back, "Be right back." She said and shuffled around. The hissing of the snakes all around him was making him uncomfortable. They were like a mob, hissing at him, "GET OUT GET OUT GET THE FUCK OUT!"

Mr. White was uncomfortable and was glad to pay the last of his galleons in his pockets for the snake.

Gleden looked at him wordlessly. "That's all you have isn't it?"

"Yes," Mr. White said.

"Listen carefully for I will give you some advice. This business venture might be successful now, for a bit but will bring you nothing but ruin later on."

"How do you know about that?" Mr. White said, color draining from his face. "How does everyone know."

"It's fate. Leave this-"

"No. No, I am leaving your store. That's what I am leaving." He grabbed the snake from her pale hands and ran out without a second glance.

No he did take a tiny peak, and saw a sad tear drop from the banshees face.

He remembered in Drumstrang, in his Magical Creatures class, how the old instructor had said many times….

"A banshee's word always comes true."

Mr. White gulped with an audible click as he apparrated back to his manor, from there to the vampires, and gave the Leader the snake.

"So you got the snake?" The Leader said as he took the cage. The African boomslang was completely black with yellow spots all around him. Her eyes were golden. She hissed angrily as the vampire opened the cage without a flinch.

The snake struck the vampire on the thumb as the leader reached out into the cage. Mr. White watched with horror.

The Leader did nothing, stopped everything for a second, then smiled and waited. The snake let go and slithered to the back of the cage. The bars were thin boxes, so as hard as the snake tried, she couldn't get out.

The vampire closed the cage and put the bitten thumb on the platform next to Harry. He took out a chopping knife from his tools under the platform, inside the open cupboards, and chopped off his thumb. Then he took an injection, and put the needle in his thumb, right into one of the fang marks the snake had created, and pulled the needle out.

There was a greenish sort of liquid inside the bar of the needle, which the vampire squirted into a test tube.

"I shall have the antidote prepared for the boy in three days tops. I must confess I have never prepared antidotes before. But I have read about them."

Mr. White nodded. "Your thumb?"

"It will grow back, never fear. As long as there are muggles around, the vampires will thrive."

"Err… right." Mr. White said. "I'll be going now. I have some business to attend to."

"You do that," The vampire said, agreeing. "You do that."

Mr. White went back to the mansion, pulled the door of his liquor cabinet in the downstairs cellar – the place he had not entered since his death eater days, and pulled out a nice fresh bottle of Guinnes Red. He set it to frost with a simple charm, conjured a bubble glass, and poured. One after the other.

He turned on the black and white television, pulled out a vcr from the closet, and drunk himself silly to an old porn video.

When he woke up with a hangover the next morning, he went on his first 'odd job.'

He went to the ministry building, sneaked inside, invisible, into the Minister of Magic's office. He had read the newspapers, how every known and accused death eater had been found dead in the mansion, and had celebrated. In fear. Harry was growing powerful, but could he still control him?

That was a question best left unanswered. But Mr. Fudge now… he could pay up. Thirty thousand was just the bottom of the barrel for a man in his position. Mr. White knew he could squeeze in at least two fifty grand. Maybe.

"Mr. Fudge." Mr. White said coldly as he stepped out of the shadows of the office. He removed his invisibility charm as he did so.

Mr. Fudge was all alone in the office. Or so he had thought. He jumped up, looking surprise.

"We had a deal, do you remember?"

"Oh its you! The assassin who-"

"Shh, whisper you buffoon. You want the aurors to barge in here?"

"Err, of course not," Fudge said. "Of course not."

"Good. Now, tell me, what was the price we agreed upon."

"Thirty thousand galleons for Lucius Malfoy's death. I have it too under my-"

"No!" Mr. White said and drew his wand with lightning speed. He pointed it directly into Fudge's eye. "We did more than that. We killed his entire meeting. We had to and now we need more."

"How much more?" Fudge stammered, eyes wide with fright.

"Three hundred thousand galleons. Ten times more."

"What?" Fudge said outraged. "That's ridiculous. Why I don't have-"

"You have three days to get it. If not you will be our next target. Oh, and the thirty thousand is extra." Mr. White pulled out the drawer and took out a hefty bag filled with galleons. "Bye."

Fudge squealed as Mr. White turned himself invisible and walked out. The door swung back. Fudge put his hands to his head as he leant on the desk, stressed out. "I need a drink," He muttered.

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Spent two hours on this chapter. Hope I get some reviews. 73 more chapters to go for this epic fic.


	8. To kill Albus Dumbledore

AN: Don't worry guys, Mr White is going to die. Soon.

Chapter Eight – To Kill Albus Dumbledore

Mr. White was sitting on the living room sofa, in a quiet and thoughtful mood. That was when the flue call came. The fire roared, Mr. White looked up, the fire turned green, a head popped out; it was the head of the Leader of the Vampires. "Mr. White, we have finished our work." He said.

Mr. White got up with a start and said, "Okay I'll be right there."

"Be sure you have our one thousand galleons you owe us," The leader said, "And come quickly, you will want to see this."

Mr. White quickly got dressed – it never paid well to be lax on your neatness near a vampire – and went into the flue. He arrived at the Vampire room. There was two big trolls guarding the room this time on the inside. On the outside he could hear banging.

"What is going on?" He said, "Where's Harry?"

Harry Potter was in the corner of the room, his face still pale, his eyes sunken, bags under them making him look like some kind of raccoon. "Right here, grandpa," He muttered. "Right here."

"Oh good," Mr. White said with relief. He turned to the silent leader of the vampires. There were two vampires behind him. Their faces were grim. "Mind telling me what's going on?" He jerked his head to the door in indication.

"Okay. There is a rebellion going on." The leader said. "They have ousted me and want Harry Potter. They want to trade him in to dark wizards, death eaters, for a fortune."

"How much?" He said harshly.

"Three hundred thousand galleons." The leader said. "As such, since I resisted, I have been ousted. I am no longer the leader anymore."

"What?"

"Yes, no longer the leader. Now you may call me Alexis if you like."

"Okay, Alexis, listen, I…err, I am sorry about this, you have to believe that."

"I doubt it. Mr. White, from one businessman to another, let me tell you that sometimes things prop up from nowhere and take you down. A good businessman like you works to his advantage. A bad one, like myself, is ousted. I have been defeated, Mr. White."

"No. Look how much do you need?"

"To reinstate myself as Leader?" Alexis grinned. "Thought you'd never ask. Three hundred thousand galleons are what I require. I believe that's what you are blackmailing Fudge for…"

"How do you know about that?" Mr. White asked.

Harry's eyes were wide as he watched. He had just woken up from a coma induced by the dreamless sleep potion. He was seated near the cage with the African Boomslang snake. The snake hissed at him. Harry hissed back.

"I have my sources. In return I suppose I could offer you a lifetime of free potions. How does that sound?"

"For me and Harry, it sounds good." Mr. White said. "So Harry? Everything okay?"

"There's something I have to talk to you about," Alexis interrupted. "Harry's a parselmouth. We found out when he was conversing with that snake over there."

"What? A parselmouth? But how?"

"Show him, Harry."

Harry grinned. "hiss hiss hiss hiss hiss." He said to the snake, and the snake said back, "hiss his hissy his hiss."

"But parseltongue is hereditary…"

"I am sure you will figure it out with time. The solution is quite easy."

Harry was acting like an eight year old (his age) had found a new toy and not like a boy assassin. "This is awesome, grandpa."

"I'm sure it is," Mr. White said tiredly. "I am sure it is."

"I believe you should go home now, and collect from Fudge." Alexis said. "Then I can be reinstated as Leader and everything will be alright again."

"Yeah for you." Mr. White muttered. Alexis said nothing, instead kept his silence.

"Okay Harry, let's go."

They went out the floo and back to the compound. Mr. White looked tired; his eyes were bloodshot. "I'm sorry, kid, haven't got much sleep lately." The reason for it was that he was reviewing his plans and had discovered a hole. What would happen when the letter was sent out when Harry was eleven? He would have to dispose of the boy because the letter charm at Hogwarts told the real address. That would be a disaster for Mr. White.

"That's alright grandpa." Harry said. "What are we going to do now?"

"Now, you explain yourself. Just what the hell happened?"

Harry flushed. "I failed grandpa. I failed you… and my parents too."

"Explain," Mr. White commanded.

"Well I entered the Malfoy Manor just like you told me how to get through the wards. I used the animagi potion and changed into a rabbit. I circled the compound once and found an open window that I jumped through. There was a house elf there, which I stunned and bounded with ropes."

He stopped a pained expression on his face.

"Continue," Mr. White said.

"I went to Malfoy's main office, it took some finding but I managed."

"You were invisible?"

"Yeah," Harry said. "Those charms are sodding hard to do…"

"Don't swear. That's only for the worthless lower class, Harry. Now continue."

"Okay when I entered his office there were a bunch of people who-"

Mr. White put a hand to his forehead and groaned. "And you continued with the job?"

"Yeah, why?"

Mr. White sat down on the couch and took out a bottle of opened scotch from which he took three deep gulps. He coughed and waved to Harry, "Go on."

"So I gave Malfoy the letter. And he got all scary, he opened his vault – It was huge! Like ten times the size of ours and there was so many bags of gold so I thought…"

"Let me guess, you took a speed potion, not knowing the side effects and ignoring that you could only do it in emergencies and eliminated everyone in the room. Then you killed Malfoy and got the money?"

"Yeah, basically."

"Then where the hell is it?"

"I dunno. I borrowed a pensieve from the vampires. I think I dropped it when I was attacked by the elf."

'I thought the elf was bound?"

"I…uh… unbounded him."

"Oh good Jesus boy, how do you manage to remember to breathe?"

Harry turned red. "It wasn't my fault. Besides I am only eight years old. I'm not superman!"

"Wait, let me guess, you stupid boy you left the pensieve with vampires, memory and all…?"

"Yeah," Harry said guiltily. "I kinda did."

"No wonder they fucking knew."

"Don't swear, grandpa." Harry said cheekily.

Mr. White glared. Then he sighed. "You need more training. How about another three years?"

"What? No way!"

"Yes way, I swear to god you made so many mistakes in your job I am surprised you didn't die…"

"I would have but you saved me," Harry said quietly. "I guess I owe you a life debt, huh?"

"Yes you do, and more than that too."

"Oh but did you know I was a parselmouth? That's so awesome! I can talk to snakes now. I wonder if I can talk to dragons too… Maybe lizards! I have to try, hey maybe we can find a basilik that…"

Mr. White groaned. He felt a headache coming on.

------

Two years later, when Harry is ten years old and ready for one last job before he becomes useless to Mr. White….

------

Mr. White had been preparing for this for a long time. As he trained Harry, ran him through virtual simulations he had set up through magic, drilling him in battle magic, dueling, all sorts of spells, and with a free supply of healing potions from the vampires he subscribed to the what doesn't kill you makes you stronger policy. And it worked.

Harry had grown from a little kid who got nightmares from his two jobs to a man. A real man. Albiet a ten year old one. Harry now had a look about him most assassins have when they enter the assassin business. He had his wand in one hand, all the time drawn, and he had animals. Mongooses mostly which he hated with a passion. They were in cages in a deep dark room that smelt of bird droppings.

He always had snakes on his arm, hissing at him and he hissed back. He held secret conversations and grew even more alienated with Mr. White.

But his eyes were the things that changed more. They were sunken, and had a deep desperate look to them like a rat had when it was caged, or a lion, captured. And the green pupils had tinges of red to them. The red that comes from madness from using the dark arts.

At night he dreamt. Strange things, strange places. Flying motorcycles, and green light. The green light of Avada Kedavra, the one curse he loved to use with a passion. Everyday he would practice his killing curse on mongooses which he bought personally from exotic mugggle stores. There were lots of them around the world and it took only minutes to get there with apparration spells. And his other unforgivables.

He also painstakingly shifted through the books in Mr. White's personal library, the one Harry wasn't allowed to enter. There he found the strangest rituals that used blood. Human blood, and human ingredients. Things like how to invent horocruxes, how to increase your speed tenfold… without speed charms.

They all had consequences, they all made you lose your humanity and give you volatile potions. Harry tried one, a potion that increased your mental speed. The ingredients you needed were the eyes of an owl and the blood of human to mix it up and change it to suit his needs. And the fang of a boomslang.

Harry had numerous snakes, Mr. White took him to Gleden the Snake Banshee one day, and Harry wanted to buy the whole lot. He went there every week to Gleden to buy a new snake. Gleden absolutely loved him.

The boomslang Harry used was the same one that had saved him a long time earlier. He did so with remorse, and mercilessness. There was no hesitation. He reached out and snap, popped off the snake's head. The snake had no chance to hiss her outrage. The other snakes were not there, it was in the washroom he did it, so the other snakes won't be in turmoil.

He mixed the ingredients up in a cauldron and boiled. Mr. White was out, doing one of the easier jobs to keep food on the table. He had let it simmer for a day and a night, and then when it was ready he put it in the fridge and let it cool for an hour… in a glass. The same bubble glass Mr. White used to drink his wine in fact.

Harry drained the potion with one gulp, and the effects were instantaneous. But they weren't what he wanted. And the worse part was that they were permenant. The potion instead of making him smarter, made him slower some way. Calmer perhaps but slower.

Slower in the sense that, while his emotions were already toned down, now he felt nothing. He wanted to feel emotions dammit! He thought that thinking would make his emotions more prominent. Fast thinking meant volatile emotions and that was what he wanted! He would study more deeply in rituals later, but for now, he was cold.

Very cold

And merciless. He had no reservations about using the crucio and used it very liberally, only on animals though. In truth he was starting to frighten Mr. White.

Mr. White was getting a bit scared now. He had been planning this for two years though. One last job, then he would kill Harry, time to bring the puppy down. It was growing too bold, too strong.

Harry must die. But after a bit of profit making. And he knew how too…

One word… Voldemort.

Yes, Voldemort. He was out there, Mr. White always knew because Mr. White had been Voldemort's top researcher.

Who the hell had gotten the dirt on horocruxes? Not Riddle, it was him, George White, the half blood.

Riddle had been half blood. They had some sort of common bond after they met on a triwizard tournament. It was hosted in Drumstrang, the last one there was. Riddle had not been one of the champions, he had not even entered.

But him and that Hogwarts headmaster, that corrupt old man Dgelus or something. They made sure Hogwarts won.

The other two champions died, Hogwarts won by default. Died on the first task. People thought it was some sort of freak accident but it wasn't. White had helped.

He did it for the powerful feeling he had felt when Riddle taught him the imperio. The feeling of superiority and control. And he had fell into Riddle's little web and it was tough to get out of the little web. Very tough. When he took the dark mark he had felt proud. A week later he realized better when he had to kneel down in front of the man.

Kneel.

Him.

No.

But Voldemort contacted him through the dark mark which had never faded away completely. As a ghostlike shade, he had no power. He did it cautiously at first, just searching in the eternal nethers of mind magicks. Dark mind magicks. And somehow he had found Mr.White, the traitor, the odd man out.

And Mr. White fell into the web of lies again.

"George… hello… its been a while."

When Voldemort had first contacted White, it scared the shit out of him. He got drunk and never spoke of it. A week later it happened again, and this time he answered back.

"Who are you?"

"You know who I am…" the voice said, a ghostly whisper on the night wind.

"Who the hell-?"

"Its me George, your old friend…"

"Tom." It wasn't a question, a statement. That was when White felt dread and terror, and cunningly, Riddle was always cunning this time even more so, he had gotten a bit of the story out from him.

White had a magical child, a child prodigy, who was an assassin.

The target?

The biggest target there was. The one that assassins had tried to off for years and years and years. The man who had single handedly defeated armies of wizards, who beat Voldemort himself into submission, along with his death eaters, over and over. That was when Albus Dumbledore was young. Now he was old.

And even more powerful.

White had one thing going for him, Riddle didn't know the boy assassin was Harry Potter.

But if Dumbledore died, then his order members would stop looking so hard for the wraithlike dark lord. And then Voldemort could go in the open and start his rise to power… again.

It was all coming back to Dumbledore. The seed had been planted, and Mr. White watered it down with Harry Potter.

To kill or not to kill... Albus Dumbledore.


	9. treachery

Chapter Nine

"Harry, I have a mission for you," Mr. White said from the parlor. "Come on, leave those damn cauldrons alone and come here!"

"Yes sir," said Harry. "What do you want?"

"A mission, have you forgotten what that is? I remember when you were only eight years old, you completed ever so many missions."

"Well, you haven't given me any for three years, now, despite how many times I've asked you for them. Now you give me one? What's changed?"

"Your training, you are more mature and a better fighter than before," said Mr. White as he sipped a cup of brandy. "Now, do you want a mission or not?"

"Yes, I do," Harry said, "But I also want part of the money that goes along with it."

"Don't get smart with me boy, I've provided for you for all your life. You should be happy with ten percent."

"I am not, okay? I want twenty percent, no less."

"Fine, have your twenty percent if it makes you feel any better. Now do you want to here the mission or not?"

"Okay," Harry said, nodding. "Tell me about this big mission of yours."

"It's an assassination, of Albus Dumbledore. I assume you've heard of-"

"Albus Dumbledore!" Harry shrieked. "Are you insane? Not only is he in Hogwarts, which I have read is by far a fortress of magic, but he is also considered to be the most powerful wizard in the-"

"Yes, yes, I know," Mr. White said, annoyed. "Now, are you going to do your mission without all your whining and bitching?"

Harry sighed. "This is going to take some time, to prepare…"

"I understand. You have a week."

"A week?! I need at least a year for this kind of thing."

"Well you don't have a year. You have deadlines now, and if you want to be a professional you better get used to it."

Harry narrowed his eyes, "Fifty percent, then."

"What? No way, brat, I already agreed on twenty, so there's no-"

"Or I don't do it." Harry said firmly. "I am placing my life here on stake, if you can't get me half the money, then forget about it."

"Do you want to die boy," Mr. White said menacingly as he pulled out his wand.

Harry drew his wand just as fast, "Bring it, old man. I'll show you what I've learned so far. And I'm not scared of your crucios anymore, you fucking-"

"Crucio!" Mr. White said.

Harry ducked, and said, "Apperium," conjuring a bright blue shield all over himself. "Die!" said Mr. White, "Avada Kedavra!"

Harry jumped up in the air, ten feet, because it was magically propelled and he started shooting stunners which distracted Mr. White long enough for him to come back with a good spell of his own, "Haryusaimus!" Golden spears flew at Mr. White, who adeptly dodged them as he shot spells of his own.

The duel lasted fifteen minutes. Soon Mr. White had Harry tied to the ground. "You see boy, you are no match for me."

"Then why don't you do this mission yourself?"

Mr. White sighed. "Here, I'll untie you."

"What's going on?"

"Let me explain, Harry, I love you like my own son, I really do. There's a reason I have to be so hard on you-"

Harry narrowed his eyes, "Shut up with your lies."

"The only reason I have to give you this mission is because I cannot get into Hogwarts."

"And I can?"

"Yes, because you are going to go as a first year student," explained Mr. White. "Don't worry, you don't actually have to face Dumbledore, I'm sure you can poison him or something."

"You can't be serious, though? Me, a first year student? That's ridiculous. I know everything in the Hogwarts curriculum, I probably know more than the seventh years."

Mr. White nodded, "And you will have to keep it a secret, okay?"

Harry sighed, looking defeated. "Fine, but its going to be so frustrating to deal with annoying little brats."

Mr. White shrugged, "Well, that's life, huh?"

"Can I have my wand back?"

"Sure," Mr. White tossed Harry's wand to him.

Harry took it, nodded, turned around and started to leave. Then he looked back and said, "By the way, I look up to you as my father as well."

Mr. White smiled faintly, "Well thank you, Harry, that's very kind-" His eyes widened as Harry pointed the wand at him and said, "Avada Kedavra!"

Mr. White didn't have time to react as the green bolt of light sped to him and killed him. He was dead as he hit the ground with a thud.

Harry walked over to him, grinning, "You, my father? You are such a fool, you know that." Harry kicked Mr. White's dead body. "Now what to do with you… Let's see, I could dump you in the ditches and live out my life in this nice mansion you got. I'm sure there's loads of money…"

He saw the bottle of brandy, "A celebratory drink, shall we?" He gulped a few sips down. "Disgusting!"

Then he looked out the window, at the soft summer sky. It was nearing evening.

He reached a descision, "No, I will continue with your plans… father. I will go to Hogwarts." His eyes hardened, his pulse quickened.

"Albus Dumbledore is a dead man."

-----

"Hagrid, I want you to deliver this letter to Harry Potter. Can you do that for me?" asked Albus from across his desk to Hagrid, who stood instead of sat on the chair.

"Well sure can, but that's a heavy responsibility, professor. Are you sure I can handle it?"

"Just by asking that, you have proven yourself to me." Albus said. "Now, go on, give this letter to him. You'll find his address on the letter."

"Okay, will do professor." Hagrid left.

Albus turned to the window and looked at the setting sun, deep in thought.


	10. mysterious visitors

AN: This chapter has been sitting around for a long time -- I wasn't motivated enough to finish it until just recently. Rest assured, this story will continue as planned and updates will come more frequently. Remember to **REVIEW** after you finish enjoying this chapter.

* * *

**_Chapter Ten: Mysterious Visitors_**

"Hello Harry Potter," said Hagrid on the front porch of Harry's home. "I'm here to give you your Hogwarts letter, and tell you about the magical world." Hagrid had to say he was extremely surprised by the luxurious home that Harry lived in. This was no muggle home. It was a marvelous looking wizard mansion. Albus would be surprised.

Harry frowned, masking his face into a look of confusion. "Hogwarts? Magic? What are you talking about?" Inside he knew that he had to make himself look like an innocent simple young child so he can fool Hagrid, and by buffer, also fool the great Albus Dumbledore. He would enter Hogwarts and kill the headmaster and then he would leave, like a shadow, like smoke, like a ghost.

Hagrid beamed, and told him all about the magical world, most of which Harry already knew. "Your parents James and Lily were famous wizards, you know, extremely powerful." Hagrid sipped a cup of his tea. He thought it was nice of Harry to invite him inside, where the house looked even better and richer than from the outside. He took a bite from the plate of cookies offered, and grinned. Delicious! Harry watched all this impassively, inside grinning at how easy it was to manipulate the half giant.

"Well… I think…" Harry said, as if he didn't know what to say or do.

"You visit me sometimes, okay? We can have a cup of tea and relax at my cottage on the Hogwarts grounds." Hagrid said pleasantly, "I would love to have you over. You'll love the magical creatures that Hogwarts has-"

Harry scanned the surface of Hagrid's mind using the little legilimency he knew – which he had learnt from a dark thin volume hidden in Mr. White's library. He decided to test his skills. "Do you have… well that is, my favorite creature's a dragon. Do they exist?"

Hagrid's face lit up. "Of course they do, lad! Dragons are the best creatures in the whole world. They're incredibly smart and talented and quite fierce too."

"Can we grow dragons there?" asked Harry, already knowing the answer.

Hagrid looked down in disappointment, "Unfortunately not. The ministry outlawed them. But if I did ever get the chance to grow a dragon…" His eyes clouded in tears of wonderment and awe.

"Well I'm sure Hogwarts will be wonderful. I'd love to go, Hagrid, and for sure, I'll come to your house and we'll have tea and all that jazz," Harry said. "Right now I'm a bit late for school."

"Ah I understand Harry," Hagrid said, nodding. He stood up and shook the young boy's hand.

"No need to say anything now," Hagrid said, "I'll come back later – maybe in a week. We can get your supplies then. And in a month or so you'll be on the train to Hogwarts and learning how to be a powerful wizard." Hagrid was pleased by Harry, who was such an eager and willing child. He liked the young boy right away and was sure that Albus Dumbledore would too.

With that Hagrid said his good byes and went away. Harry was left alone in the house. He laughed and laughed. This was just too easy, he thought. He spent the rest of the day sharpening his dueling skills and going through the legilimency book. He focused his mind on an imaginary black dot and tried to pierce through it, like how the book taught. It was extremely hard. Harry also learnt the basics of occlumency and formed an imaginary blue shield around his head. He strengthened the shield using his magic, making it more real and alive. Sometimes when he looked in the mirror he could almost see the blue shimmer. He felt safe knowing it was there, knowing his mind was protected. He had heard that Dumbledore was an expert at the mind techniques.

--

Harry sent an owl to the vampire clans in the evening time as he sat on a rocking chair in the balcony, looking at the orange sun set in the vast green fields and forests that surrounded White mansion. He needed many different things from the vampires, namely books. Lots and lots of dark books. Harry was a ravenclaw at heart (he had read about Hogwarts and its houses in the book: Hogwarts, A History) so he loved knowledge and he wanted more of it, because he knew that knowledge was power.

He relaxed on the rocking chair, drinking a bit of wine, which he had grown a fondness toward even though it affected him much more severely than a grown person considering he was only a child. A child physically, he reminded himself happily, but inside I'm much more powerful. If I were in a grown man's body I could accomplish so much. I am a prodigy. He thought. He was extremely skilled. He would grow even more skilled with time but for now he had to go to Hogwarts. He had to kill the only man who could ever give him competition. He read about the first war with Voldemort, how Dumbledore was always a pain, always the only thing Voldemort couldn't conquer.

Well Harry sought much power, he yearned for it because as a child he knew that those who had power were respected, feared, and got what they wanted. Harry wanted to be the most powerful wizard in the world but Dumbledore stood in his way. So Dumbledore had to go.

The next morning, when he was running out on the lawns and doing push ups, making himself physically stronger, he got his reply. A black hawk with fierce purple eyes swooped down on him with a letter in its sharp white claws. Harry untied the letter from the hawk's dangerous claws and quickly read it. The Vampires had a vast library of ancient books and were willing to sell it to him… for a price.

Luckily Harry had an enormous supply of gold. He wrote back on the back of the sheet of parchment that the original letter had been inscribed on with a muggle ball point pen. He didn't like quills and ink – they were too old fashioned for his tastes. The muggles had developed better writing utensils. He told the vampires to bring him any books related to the mind arts. He was willing to pay a good price for them.

The hawk didn't make a sound as Harry tied the letter to it's claws, and then it stared at Harry with it's purple eyes, and suddenly it changed into a human body. Harry stepped back, and brought his wand up threateningly. An animagus? It seemed so. "Show me your face or I'll kill you," Harry said.

"Peace my friend," the person said in a smooth voice. He wore a torn black cloak, and simple sandals. He was a very big fellow – extremely fat – and had a big black beard that made him look extremely scruffy. He looked like a bear, but it was his long nose that made him look hawkish. As well as those sharp purple eyes that seemed as if they were magnified under a microscope. Those purple eyes filled his entire face. Harry felt himself getting lost in those eyes.

Suddenly he snapped out of it, realizing that the strange suspicious man before him was using – or trying to use – legilimency on him. He strengthened his occlumency shields and tightened his grip on his wand. "What do you want with me?" Harry growled out.

"Gold," hissed the man. "I can get you what you want. But I need gold, badly."

"You're not a vampire, are you?" Harry asked, grounding his feet and pumping magical energy into his muscles as he readied himself for a fight.

The man noticed and tensed, and then the tightness dissolved from his figure. He started to chuckle. "You're just a boy, but you're a powerful young lad, I'll grant you. So you want some books on the mental arts, is that it?"

Harry didn't say anything. His face turned red at the man's patronizing tone. He was extremely angry at himself for not noticing the hawk animagus, for allowing his letter to fall into the hands of his enemies. That is… if this man was his enemy. Harry wasn't sure. The only thing that held him back from starting a fight was that this man was an unknown. What if the animagus was stronger than him? Then he would be in a bad situation. Harry definitely didn't want that. Although he was confident in his own abilities, the man was an animagus as well as skilled in legilimency. He could be a vicious dueler as well.

"I can get you the books that you want, young man. Whatever you want. What's your name?" asked the man, taking a friendlier tone. "I'm Renaud the Great. You?"

"Jason," Harry said, thinking of an alias. "Get me the books. I'll pay you. You go away. Is that agreeable?"

Renaud nodded, "I can teach you the mind arts too-"

"No, absolutely not," Harry said angrily. "Do you think I'm stupid? Get out of my house. Bring those books tonight, is that good?"

Renaud chuckled and changed into a hawk. He swooped upwards, and roamed the sky in circles over the house. Then he sped away into the blue sky. Harry cursed at himself. He didn't like the situation he was in at all. He felt too vulnerable. The rest of the day he spent wandering the White mansion, looking for any artifacts he could use or any secret rooms. He pulled down a lever in the dark, damp dungeons and a passageway opened. Harry grinned. He hadn't explored the dungeons fully. They were mostly empty, only rats used them now. The passageway was dark and filled with spider webs. "Inferio," Harry said and let loose a jet of flame to clear the passageway of any dangerous insects or rodents. He definitely did not want to get the black plague.

Using his wand to light the passageway, he moved through it slowly and cautiously, on the lookout for any traps that might get the better of him. He found two. One was a wire thin string that he might have tripped over. He conjured a snake to trip the trap and saw a wave of daggers descend from above at the spot where the wire was tied. He winced and levitated himself over the daggers. The second trap he would was a loose rock on the floor. If he had stepped on it, he would have fallen through in a gigantic pit. He levitated himself over that as well.

By now he was extremely curious of what lay inside at the end of the passageway. Hidden dark books or artifacts? Perhaps a mound of gold and treasure that he could use to procure the items he so desperately sought? The answer? Nothing.

Or just about nothing anyways. He entered a dim room. Looking around, he saw that the room was empty save for a discarded wand that had rolled up in a crevice at the corner of the room. He summoned the wand to him and examined it. The wand was unlike anything he had seen before. Instead of wood it was made out of a crystal material, like diamond. He could see through this material at the core where there was a thin string of hair that glowed all the colours of the rainbow in quick succession. Harry grabbed hold of this feminine looking wand and instantly felt a wave of power flutter upwards in his chest.

He conjured a bird, and he waved the wand letting out golden emerald sparks into the stale air. This wand was much stronger than his holly and phoenix one. This wand was an ancient wand, and Harry saw an inscription in Old Norse at the base of the wand. He used a translation spell to gather it's meaning: "Property of the wizard, Merlin." The inscription read. Harry felt his heart beat faster in his chest. Merlin's wand?

With this artifact he would be much stronger than ever before. He couldn't believe his luck. The White family was an old and obscure family, but to think that they had a treasure like this hiding just in their dungeons waiting to be discovered…? Harry licked his lips, and looked around suspiciously, but nothing happened. He went back out the passageway on the lookout for traps but nothing. Nothing whatsoever. The silence that greeted him as he made his way into the parlor was almost deafening. He was too excited to do much of anything.

He went to the liquor cabinet and poured himself a celebratory drink. At this rate he would become an alcoholic, he thought, bemused. As he drank a few sips, he tried all the spells he knew. They came out so much easily with Merlin's wand. And they worked so well too. Harry decided he was probably the luckiest person alive right now.

Merlin's wand… he shook his head, because he still couldn't believe it. This just couldn't be happening. Perhaps he was dreaming? But he wasn't. Life was changing faster than ever. Would he be ready to meet it? That thought scared the hell out of him.

The rest of the day he spent testing the wand and using it to further his dueling practice. He could fire spells at a much faster rate than with his old wand. He could do so much, it was mind blowing.

His old wand had a special place in his heart of course, but he naturally liked Merlin's wand much better. Harry changed the inscription to make it read: "Property of the wizard, Harry Potter." That was better. This wand was still too conspicuous, too noticeable. He tried to put a wooden layering over the wand, but that just dampened the effects. He also tried using a disillusionment charm over it but the charm wouldn't hold. He decided to keep his old wand and use the better one only in case of emergencies. He would hide it on his persona at all times of course.

Thrilled with his new find, Harry was in a much calmer state of mood when he heard a knock at the front door. He opened it and met with the sight of the burly Renaud and his hawk nose. "My boy Jason!" cried Renaud. "Aren't you going to invite me in?" He gestured at a black bag he held at his side. It seemed really heavy and was filled with books.

Reluctantly, Harry allowed Renaud to come inside. He conjured a cup of tea for the wizard, who politely declined. Renaud brought out three books on the glass table: "The Basics of Legilimency by Alfred Garnfield; Secrets of the Wicked – A Look at the Mind Arts by Shifajuga Ramsfern; The Practice of Security by Albus Dumbledore."

"The last one's especially rare," said Renaud, "and in my opinion the best book on occlumency ever written."

"How much for all these three?" asked Harry. He was really interested and willing to buy them at any price Renaud was willing to quote.

"I won't sell them to you," Renaud said flatly. "But I will let you read them. Only that."

"But—why?" asked Harry. "Why won't you sell them to me?"

"They're too valuable. Here's what I'll do. I'm willing to come here maybe two or three hours a day. You feed me with as much food as you got, and maybe pay me fifty galleons an hour to read 'em. Take it or leave it."

Harry thought hard, whirling his mind around the strange deal Renaud was offering him. "Are you a homeless bum or something?" muttered Harry, too low for him to hear. Apparently not low enough because Renaud quipped, "Yes actually I am."

Harry knew he was a fast reader, and could probably get the essentials of each book really fast. He could superficially skim through them and get the basics of each of them in perhaps an hour. Twenty minutes each book. Then when Renaud was gone he could transcribe them into notes and use them as a guide for his own independent study into the mental arts. That way he would only have to pay fifty galleons. Still expensive, but Harry could make it work.

"Okay," Harry said. "I agree to your deal. I'll read them today for an hour. Only that much."

"Only an hour?" Renaud asked, disappointed. "You won't learn anything-"

"I will," Harry said, suddenly thinking of a wicked idea. "Help yourself to the food in the kitchen. I need to use the bathroom and get your money as well."

He got up and went upstairs to his potions lab where he picked up two vials of a green-blue liquid. These were super-learner potions, good for studying tests. He had invented them himself using a certain Severus Snape's Guide to Potion Making book. He gulped them down, got his personal saving pouch of galleons and brought them downstairs where Renaud was stuffing himself with all the food in the kitchen. Harry rolled his eyes at the mess Renaud was making.

"Okay I'm ready to start reading," Harry called out. Renaud waddled over to him, and said, "tempus," while jabbing his wand in the air. A holographic clock appeared above them, it's two hands golden, the surface of the clock was white, and the numbers were written in elaborate black ink.

"One hour," Harry said and handed him fifty galleons. He picked up The Basics of Legilimency and flipped through it at an intense speed, mentally filing away all the important bits to help him do legilimency. Renaud watched with surprise as Harry finished with the first book in twenty minutes and moved on to the second.

"There's no way you can actually read all that…" muttered Renaud, scratching his beard.

But Harry did. In another twenty minutes he was done the second book, and started on the third. The third one was the most fascinating, not just because it was written by Albus Dumbledore, but also because the information was solid and very applicable to Harry. He focused on his blue shield and made it ripple like it was water. He added a minature city onto the blue shield, so it was like a planet was surrounding Harry. The people on this minature city would protect Harry from attack by confusing the attacker. The next thing he learnt was how to make a second shield deep inside his mind to protect his most valuable secrets. He formed the image of a giant black box and he thrust all his secrets inside the box and locked it up nice and tight with a metal chain. Around the box he placed guards – chess pieces – and a giant python as well. Then Albus showed how to build traps in the mind to destroy the attacker. Harry built pits in his mind – little black holes, and hid them away under a blanket of mist. Now Harry had created his own world – his mind was his world – so when the attacker would want to pick out information from his mind they would have to go through a heck of a lot of trouble to get them.

Albus also showed how to increase the potency of the shield by repeating a spell mentally over and over. This was an Indian spell, called a mantra, that would strengthen and protect the mind against all attackers. "Shayum, shayum, shayum," Harry intoned mentally. He could already feel the shields became stronger. Albus said that you had to keep on repeating the mantra as much as you could at all times of the day to increase your concentration.

Now Harry had gotten enough information to start on increasing his legilimency skills as well. All this information was extremely interesting and useful to Harry and luckily he was done in his prescribed time of one hour. "Okay," he said, "Thanks, but I'm through with this."

"Fucking amazing," said Renaud, "If you actually could read these 1000 page tomes in that much time. Alright kid, do you need any other books?"

"Not for your prices. I won't be able to afford them," said Harry. "Thanks but no thanks. I think we are through here."

Renaud nodded and complacently left. Harry was suspicious, and checked for any traps or surveillances equipment Renaud might have left behind. He found a little gem stuck on the ceiling in a corner, where he wouldn't notice. Harry destroyed the gem by flushing it down the toilet.

When he slept that night in his room, he smiled to himself, repeating, "Shayum, shayum, shayum…" the mantra spell was working. His mind was already getting stronger and soon he would have shields on par with Dumbledore's. He expected that considering he was a prodigy. Surprisingly the mental arts weren't easy compared to all the other arts – like potions and transfiguration – that he had learnt and mastered.

Well, life wasn't easy. As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered who exactly Renaud was, and what was his background. Would he come back? Harry thought, if he did, I'll kill him. He said to himself. Renaud was a threat. Harry couldn't bear to be around him.

The next morning when he awoke and went downstairs to the parlor he found Renaud waiting for him, stretched out against the sofa, pretending to be asleep. "Oh fuck," Harry cursed and pulled out his wand… only to find that it was a fake – only a stick. Renaud opened his eyes and fixed Harry with one single glare, "Awake now, boy?"

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AN: Please review so I can update faster! This is a cliff hanger for sure. At first I wasn't sure if I should leave it in there, but then I thought, why not? It will keep you on your feet until I post the next chapter (probably tomorrow). This entire week I have exams, but I'll still keep writing because I really love this story. So review, I want to hear from my readers. Especially about pairings. Please vote!

1. H/Hr

2. Harry/Padma

3. Harry/Ginny

4. Harry/Susan Bones

If you have any other suggestions, feel free to include them. Who knows... Your vote might just count, unlike real life.


	11. the battle

Chapter 11: THE BATTLE

Harry looked at Renaud with horror. His mind jumped to his wand – Merlin's wand – and he felt it pressing against his calf where he had put it last night. Renaud had his wand out and pointed straight at Harry so he couldn't grab his wand and blast Renaud. Not yet anyways.

"What do you want?" asked Harry cautiously. He took deep breaths to calm himself down so he could think clearly. Noticing Renaud's facial features tighten, he felt his spine stiffen and felt adrenaline rush through his blood.

"Me? What do I want? No, no, no, the question is… what do you want Jason?" said Renaud with a sneer. "Or should I say, Harry Potter?"

"Why are you here?" said Harry, trying to distract Renaud. If the bear-like man was going to try anything funny, Harry wanted time to prepare. He already ran a simulation in his mind of how he would duck and roll to get some cover behind the leather armchair facing the balcony. Then he would grab Merlin's wand from the hostler stuck to his calf and kill Renaud with it.

"I want you," Renaud said eagerly. "I was paid twenty thousand galleons by an extremely rich pureblood whom I shall not name, to capture you and bring you to him."

"I can give you forty," offered Harry hopefully, seeing a way to get out of this without fighting. Although he didn't exactly mind a good duel, he didn't know the strengths and weaknesses of Renaud and he definitely did not want to enter a fierce and vicious fight in which he might lose. He might be a crazy genius but he was only eleven years old, and he didn't have that much life experience, especially with dueling.

Sure he had done a few amazing acts of unprecedented skill – like breaking into Malfoy manor, or killing Mr. White. But right now he didn't feel confident enough in his ability to take down Renaud. He reminded himself that Renaud was an animagus, and he had access to dark and obscure books. He probably had some skill in dueling as well.

"No you can't," said Renaud coldly, his eyes sparkling and his nose twitching, "I know your state of finances. Hardly any gold in this house."

"Give me my wand back," Harry said, fists tightening, "And I won't kill you."

Renaud laughed, and sprang up from the sofa in a leap. Harry crouched, heart pounding, tense and ready to run. But Renaud didn't attack; instead he stared at Harry carefully with big purple eyes. Something wasn't right about those eyes. They weren't natural. Harry wondered if they came from dark rituals.

He knew some that could change your body parts. But they were dark… extremely extremely dark, because they would change you mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Rituals like that would change your soul – fragment it and corrupt it. Harry hadn't dwelled that far into the dark side yet. He wasn't a fool.

"I don't think you are in a position to threaten me," Renaud said, smirking. He fished inside his robe pocket and brought out Harry's holly and phoenix feather wand. Crushing it in one hand, he grinned menacingly. "What are you going to do now? No magic for poor ickle Harry Potter!"

Harry glared at him, feeling blood rush to his face, "You won't get me that easily, just because you have a wand-"

Renaud scowled and jabbed his wand into the air, letting loose a jet of hot flame at Harry, who leapt to the side, taking cover under the leather armchair as planned. Harry found that Renaud hadn't taken Merlin's wand – hadn't even looked for it. Good. Harry brought it out and swung it in an arc, crying out, "Frycufa!"

The simple dark spell would make deep gashes where the spell landed. A roar of pain came out from Renaud's mouth. Harry grinned, the spell hit. He jumped out, intent on launching several spells and blinked when he saw that Renaud was nowhere to be seen.

The screeching of a large war hawk filled the room. Harry looked up and met head on with sharp white claws descending onto his face at blinding speed. The claws dug into Harry's cheeks. The gigantic hawk began to fly upward, wings flapping wildly, dragging Harry's face along with it. Harry brought his wand into the air, and said, "Nimocarwan!" Suddenly red light launched out of the wand, circling around the bird. It shimmered, and the bird was trapped in a sphere cage of red light.

"Not so tough now, are you?" Harry said mockingly. "To think, I was almost afraid of you, but it turns out your abilities are merely mediocre."

"I don't think so," growled out a deep voice from behind Harry. The boy-who-lived whirled around to meet face to face with a punching fist coming from a purple-eyed man the size of a bear. Harry didn't recognize his face as it was covered in black feathers.

The hawk was merely a distraction, Harry thought as his nose broke from the punch. His face hurt all over. The claw marks had left deep cuts on his cheeks, and his nose was bleeding heavily. He fell onto the floor, seeing colorful spots in the air that didn't exist. He started to get dizzy, but knew he should get up and fight. He couldn't however: he didn't have enough strength.

"Come on! Get up, little boy!" roared Renaud, kicking Harry in the ribs with a heavy dragon hide boot. Blood spurted out of the boy's mouth. Harry groaned in pain, rolling to the side. He gripped Merlin's wand tighter and saw a chance. "Wingardium leviosa," Harry muttered, pointing the wand at himself. He leapt toward the ceiling and shouted, "Avada kedavra!" at the surprised hawk animagus. Renaud leapt out of the way, but he didn't need to.

Nothing came out of the wand. The green light just fizzled away. Harry frowned at it as he fell. What was going on? Then he remembered and cursed himself for being so foolish just as he met head on with a "CRUCIO!" from Renaud.

His body twitched and shook wildly in pain, and he felt himself going through an enormous pain filled seizure. Block the pain, he thought to himself, but he couldn't. He couldn't think with the pain rushing into every nerve in his body, lighting it like acid.

The curse stopped, and he heard Renaud's chuckling. "Expelliarmus!" Harry cried out weakly. Renaud batted the spell away with the back of his hand and sent back a stupefy. Harry raised a pathetic shield, but it was enough for him to dodge the spell as it broke the shield. Renaud didn't stop his attack.

He kept sending wave after wave of stunners. Harry couldn't block them all. He felt one of them hit his leg. Concentrate! He urged himself, knowing he was in a situation of life and death. He waved his wand at his leg, and wincing in his mind, he said, "Reducto!" his leg exploded into shards. Blood spurted out, and Harry hurriedly fried the wound to catorize it.

Renaud looked surprised. Harry grunted in pain. He had to shatter the stupefy curse that had hit his leg, so he blew his leg up. Thus he wasn't unconscious. "Amazing, Harry, you have a thing for pain I suppose," Renaud said, and lazily sent another stunner at Harry.

Harry aimed his wand just as the stunner hit. He felt himself going unconscious but just before that pivotal moment, he sent out one last spell, aiming his wand at a portrait of Mr. White. "Accio!" he exclaimed. The portrait rushed to him as his vision darkened. He felt a pull on his navel just as he descended into darkness.

Mr. White in cases of emergencies made the portkey. It transported Harry to a hidden room inside White manor. When Harry awoke he was in a closet sized room, bleeding from various wounds. His mouth was dry, his throat hurt like he had the flu, and his stomach felt nauseous. He didn't know where he was at first, feeling disorientation. Slowly the duel with Renaud came back to him and Harry knew he had to get away from White manor.

Renaud was searching the whole house. He would find this room in time. Harry didn't think he had enough energy to do magic. He didn't even know if he was coherent enough to form a spell. He had to go get medical attention. St. Mungo's? No, everybody would know it was Harry Potter and he didn't even want to think about all the attention he would get. He didn't want attention.

Harry's mind turned to Diagon Alley. He could get a room in the Leaky Cauldron but he would have to apparate there and he couldn't apparate in the house because of the wards. He would have to go outside the house, into the garden or the lawn. He winced. How in the world was he going to get there past Renaud.

But he sensed if he stayed here he would die, probably of suffocation or from all the wounds he had suffered. He couldn't believe how easily he had fallen to Renaud. The man wasn't even a good dueler! Not compared to Harry anyways. But the hawk's claws digging into Harry's face, as well as that sneak attack from behind… and then the crucio… his whole body hurt.

Harry learnt an important lesson: it didn't matter how good a dueler you are. All you needed was a few dirty tricks and you could take down the best of them. His confidence in himself was thoroughly shaken.

He got to his feet with a pain filled groan, and let his mind wander to what he would do to Renaud when he was in a better position. Renaud was a dead man, thought Harry. He gingerly touched a hand to his tender face and winced as the pain rushed through the already exhausted nerves.

Harry looked for the door, and wondered if he should take his chances. He couldn't run fast, couldn't do much of anything right at the moment. He didn't even know if he could apparrated without splinching himself.

He could hear Renaud shouting angrily, "Harry! Harry! Where are you, you fucking brat?" It sounded as if Renaud was in the kitchen but Harry couldn't be sure. Renaud was cunning, and Harry was surprised to find he felt a tinge of fear at the thought of facing Renaud again.

He sighed and decided he had to risk it. Perhaps he could jump out a window and drag himself to the borderline of the wards. Then hopefully he could apparate without splinching himself. Life really sucked sometimes. Or he could just stay here and die… No, he liked living. Even though it hurt like a bitch sometimes.

He opened the door and looked around in the hallway. H stepped outside and winced as he heard a creak in the floorboards. He was met with complete silence all around him. His heart thudded against his ribs. He felt like he was going to die.

Walking briskly toward a closet, he brought out a Comet 31 broomstick. It was really old. Harry went to an open window in his potions lab, and before going out, he gulped down several energy restorer potions as well as grabbing some pepper up potions. He thought for a moment – should he take his felix felicis bottle?

Perhaps a few drops. He gulped a sip down, wincing at the bitter taste. But he felt a wave of calm and peace come over him. A happy smile filled his boyish face. Harry grabbed his broom easily, and pulled out Merlin's wand. Thank god he still had it on him. He rushed out the window, and flew like he had never flown before. He zigged zagged around the lawn, and saw the hawk coming down at him from the blue sky.

Harry swooped up to meet the hawk and at the last minute he turned and kicked the hawk with his shoe. Right at it's weak spot, the neck. Then he swooped down fast, grazing the grass blades with his feet. He flew and flew and looked back. The hawk wasn't pursuing him at all. Instead, Renaud was watching him from far away. Harry could see the man's small smile, as if he knew that Harry wouldn't be able to run forever.

"Damn right," Harry said to himself. "Next time I see you, I'm going to kill you." He concentrated on his flying, letting the pain wash over him and simply go away. The pain was irrelevant now. He knew what he had to do. It galled him and probably took down his ego a couple (thousand) notches.

He had to learn more. He had to train more. And for that, he would have to go to Hogwarts. He had a few kinks in his magical training. So he had to go over the basics again and he had to get his education. A good education… from Hogwarts.

He didn't want to kill Dumbledore anymore. He didn't want to do much of anything save for learning, and getting stronger so he would never have to be in a situation where he was this weak. He had underestimated Renaud. Closing his eyes, he let the breeze ruffle his hair. The smell of the pine and the water running in a shallow stream below him felt good. He stopped, and took a drink of water from the cool stream. The water felt good.

The tall oak trees around him provided a good shadow from the heat of the sun. Life was alright. He would heal. He would become stronger again. He would become the strongest in the world… one day. For now, he had to take things a few steps at a time. The water felt good. It was healing. He splashed his face, wincing slightly at the pain. The water cleaned the deep gashes on his face. It would be permanently scarred. A price to pay for defeat.

He climbed on the rickety old broom again and flew toward London, a two hundred mile journey. He had a long way to go and no money on his person. He smiled as he felt the sun heat up his wounded face.

Life was good.

--

AN: Okay, no cliffhanger this time. Keep in mind that in about eight chapters left for Part 2. Then Harry's first year will be over! So we'll be moving pretty fast from now on. The next chapter will take me a week or so because I'm planning a 10 000 word chapter!

Here are a few things to decide, so please give your opinions.

Pairings What house will Harry be sorted in? Should he be a friend with Ron and Hermione? Will he play quidditch as a seeker?

So please review! You probably don't realize how much your opinions influence the direction this story goes…


	12. hogwarts

AN: Thanks for the **great **reviewsguys. I absolutely loved them and enjoyed reading them extremely. They even gave me a few ideas on what to do later on. Much of this chapter is character building, so it will go a bit slowly, but I think its necessary for giving more depth to the action that is going to come a little later on.

I know this chapter isn't 10000 words, but I wanted to get it out ASAP. Enjoy and don't forget to leave a review!

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Chapter 12: Hogwarts

Harry struggled hard to keep alert and conscious as he flew toward London. The felix felicis potion was wearing off. He felt tired and ragged and knew he had to get some sleep. His leg was injured badly – his bone was fragmented into little pieces, blown apart by that reducto curse he had used to stop Renaud's stupefy. His mind kept wandering back to the duel, and how the wand couldn't channel the killing curse. Harry had casted it at the exact moment where it would have done him some massive good – but the wand didn't work. Harry wondered if it was cursed.

It wasn't of course. He knew the reason why Merlin's wand wouldn't channel the Avada Kedavra. It was super dark magic. It seemed this wand could only channel light magic, and if you wanted to tread the line, gray magic. Not black magic though. That was a major drawback with this wand because black magic curses were the easiest to use and did the most damage. He needed to get his old wand back, the holly and phoenix feather but he wasn't sure how. Perhaps he should buy another wand from Olivander's. The wand chooses the wizard – had Merlin's wand chosen him?

But how had it gotten in the White mansion in the first place? As his mind revolved around this, he thought he hit up on a good hypothesis: originally the White family must have been a staunch supporter of the light, so perhaps it was not so far off to believe that they had Merlin's wand in their possession. Then why put it in an empty room for them to find?

Harry froze on his broom as the solution hit him like thunder. Of course! The room looked empty to other people, but it was hiding Merlin's wand, because the wand hadn't chosen the right wizard yet. And then when Harry entered the room, the wand drew him toward itself, because the wand had chosen Harry. That's why it felt so good to wave the wand around the first time he had touched it, because it felt like coming home. It felt like a mother's embrace: unconditional love.

Harry looked at the wand in a new light. It had chosen Harry. But… why? Why me, he thought, confused, though he wasn't complaining. I've killed, I've tortured, I've done a couple dark rituals. I'm not a light supporter; I'm more on the grey side… Not completely descended into darkness… just treading on the line.

Maybe that's why. Maybe the wand wanted to influence Harry to come on the light side again. Slowly the wand would start manipulating him; soon it would probably stop working for grey spells. Then only light spells would work. Harry knew of course that although the light side needed strength and willpower in extreme amounts (or it wasn't as powerful unlike dark magic), the light could work wonderfully as well.

Dumbledore was proof. Harry had read about him in his biography – the old wizard had taken an oath when he was younger that he would never do dark magic in his life. Ever. A magical oath! If he broke it, he would lose his magic and his life. But you had to have enormous strength to turn away from the dark and follow the light path solely. It wasn't powerful – not immediately – and it was not rewarding unless you reached the ultimate levels.

The path toward the light was a path toward God. And one had to undergo a lot of heat to transform and transcend limitations, desires, and frustrations: too much pain, too much work. Harry got to thinking, if he chose the path toward the light; he would have a much simpler and easier life. He could enjoy himself more often. He could rest, and enjoy the simple things in life. Good friends, lemon drops: Dumbledore's favorite candy, famous throughout the wizarding world. There was even a company called Dumbledore Favorites that produced lemon drops. It was funded entirely by Albus Dumbledore and its sole job was to produce lemon drops at a startlingly fast rate as the old light wizard consumed them at light speed. (Pun intended)

Harry sighed and shook his head. What was he thinking? Power was everything and if he didn't have power, who was he as a person: a good for nothing nobody. No, he couldn't let this wand influence him like that. He would use whatever tools came to him to get ahead, to get what he wanted in life. Yet that nagging voice in the back of his mind still told him he would be so much happier if he would join the light completely.

Harry thought he knew where this was coming from. The wand was influencing him! He wondered if he showed simply chuck it into a river or something. But he couldn't, or else he would be defenseless. At this rate however, before the summer was over he just might take a vow ala Albus Dumbledore. He definitely did not want to take a constricting magical oath like the one Albus had taken in his early 20s.

The wounds on his face weren't exactly healing. They had scabbed over and would probably leave ugly scars that wouldn't make good dinner conversation later in life but would be an interesting and peculiar thing anyways. They were red and tender and whenever he touched it – which was often, he liked touching his wounds, he sort of felt pride in them like they were old war wounds – they broke out and started bleeding. It hurt like hell itself. But he had recovered from the crucatius curse at least. Having that cast on him at his small tender age was not good for his physical growth.

However there was a growing body of (dark) research that said the unforgivable pain curse cast upon a youngster would increase his magical core and thus make him stronger. Harry hoped it was true. He tested it by casting a heating charm over himself as night descended upon the sky. His skin tingled pleasantly. He wondered if he should continue his journey to London on this aged and barely working broom that apparently went less than ten miles an hour. Less than five even. He could walk faster than this! His body was too exhausted for that sort of journey or else he would have done it too. He needed some sleep and rest. Looking on the ground below for a campsite all he saw was a dismal forest of oak and scymore trees. There were probably bears down there too. Just his luck.

He floated downward in search of shelter and found a rock outcropping he saw would give him some measure of shelter. It started to rain terribly hard, all of a sudden. Wind howled through the trees and grey clouds covered the silver tint of a full moon. He heard an animal's voice grunting and he froze, straining his ears to hear more. Nothing. He definitely did not feel comfortable here. But he was tired, his eyelids felt heavy from exhaustion and he needed rest to heal his wounds. His leg hurt terribly (so he couldn't walk, he would have to rely on the ancient broom after all) and his broken nose still broke out in waves of blood from time to time. Also he was hungry and completely exhausted. If a bear or a wolf attacked him he probably wouldn't be able to defend himself.

He used Merlin's Wand (he couldn't think of it as his own anymore considering he thought the wand was trying to manipulate him into joining the light side) to light a fire and conjure a blanket. He slept the night in a deep, restful sleep with no dreams or tossing and turning like he usually had. He strengthened his occlumency shields as he drifted off, repeating, "Shayum, shayum, shayum…" It felt relaxing to meditate like this. When he woke up he found that he was still going on, "Shayum, shayum, shayum…"

Perhaps this mantra thing really worked, he thought, I've had the best sleep of my life. Maybe I should get hurt more often dueling dangerous assassins who want to kidnap me and deliver me to some rich pureblood fool. As he opened his eyes he groaned in pain. Everything in his body hurt. And not just the old wounds, but mosquito bites too! Lots of them. On his face, arms, legs, back, neck… little red boils that itched and annoyed him terribly. Life just couldn't get any better…

He conjured a splint for his leg and put a numbing charm on it to keep it from hurting too much. He didn't need distractions on his look out for food. As he walked he heard birds whistling happily and trees shuddering in pleasure from a soft gentle caress of a cool breeze that smelt oceanic. He got on his broom and ascended into the air, wondering why he hadn't risked taking the Nimbus located downstairs in the living room. Then he wondered if Renaud would try to follow him on the nimbus. Why hadn't he? Harry thought. He probably saw it as it was leaning against the patio door leading to the backyard. Well, he was thankful Renaud hadn't. That would allow him to recuperate.

He saw a rabbit chasing another rabbit as they ran almost snake like through the trees, zigzagging between tree trunks and bushes and piles of fallen orange leaves. The world was shining beautifully from the sunlight but Harry did not enjoy it. He was in too much pain for that. Harry raced down toward the rabbits, pushing his broom as far as it would go. The broom hummed and vibrated and made funny noises but – mind over matter – Harry's will prevailed. He reached down on the rabbits with his wand and conjured a noose that hung at the end of Merlin's Wand. Thank god this wasn't (too dark) magic. So what if he used it for killing. It wasn't dark right? Besides, he was hungry and he wanted two fat rabbits to eat!

He pulled up when he caught the rabbit's neck in the noose and watched dispassionately as the rabbit kicked and struggled to get out. Soon, it had broken it's neck and was dead. Harry let the rabbit drop to the ground and chased after the second one, who hadn't seen the first one die. Same thing, except the rabbit got wind of his scent as he was traveling downwind and raced into a little rabbit hole. Harry sighed and went back to fetch the rabbit he had hunted down so mercilessly.

He went back to his campsite and lit the fire again. He levitated the rabbit over the fire and held it there (it didn't take too much magic and was good for concentration) letting it burn slowly. He smelt burning hair and wrinkled his nose in disgust. Taking the rabbit away from the fire, he cast a severing charm to skin the rabbit. It was a bit of work but his stomach was growling and his mouth was drooling. Then he went back to roasting the rabbit over the fire using a conjured ramrod, which he had stuck up the rabbit's ass and through his mouth using it as a spit. Using magic to rotate it, he rested his back against the moss that grew on the rock outcropping and let his eyes drifted in relaxation and pleasure.

Life was painful and it hurt sometimes, and you didn't always get things done your way. But all in all, life wasn't bad, Harry thought. He looked hard at himself and saw that he was changing. Once he had been White's dark little pet, but now he was his own persona. He was a valuable human being and he owned himself one hundred percent. Nobody had control or authority over him. He was an authority over his own self so he could do what he wanted.

After he finished his meal, feeling full, happy, and relaxed, he climbed atop his broom and resumed his trek toward London. He passed over the city, hearing honks and the babbling of numerous voices. Before he had been passing over the rural countryside. Now, at the outskirts of the cities, but still not quite at London. He had over a hundred miles to go. He flew down and climbed off his broom. Casting a shrinking charm over his broom he put it in his jeans pocket and thought up a good plan. He could get to London via muggle ways, aka using the taxi. But he needed money for that and the best way to get money was to rob people.

A man in a blue business suit carrying a black leather valise passed by him hurriedly, almost knocking him over. Harry growled in distaste and then suddenly an idea struck him. He pointed his wand at the businessman's back and casted, "Imperio." This was a test to see if Merlin's Wand would work for such a spell. The businessman stiffened and stopped abruptly.

"Turn around," Harry said, pocketing his wand. The man turned, his brown eyes glazed and watery. Harry was surprised to find that the imperio spell worked. Did that mean the spell wasn't dark? Harry felt laughter bubbling inside him, an unforgivable that was not dark! The irony!

"Call a cab," ordered Harry calmly and walked over to the business man so they stood side by side. "Show me your wallet."

Jack Burns had about two hundred pounds cash on his person. That was a lot of money, thought Harry, to be carrying around. He had hit the jackpot. Jack pulled out a cell phone and dialed some numbers. He put it to his ear and said, "Yeah I'd like a cab at 21st avenue, yeah five minutes is fine." Then he hung up.

A yellow cab rolled to a stop in front of them. "Get in," Harry said and followed Jack into the cab.

The interior smelt like the clean smell of air conditioning and sweet herbal perfume. The driver was a Sikh; he wore a white turban and had a long grey beard and mustache and dark proud warrior eyes. "Where would you like to go?" he said in an accented voice.

"Take us to London," Harry said. Jack nodded and repeated what Harry said in an easy and relaxed manner.

"As you wish," said the driver and took off, stepping hard onto the gas pedal. The car roared away.

Harry got off out the cab in front of the Leaky Cauldron and ordered Jack to pay the man and get out as well. The fare came to thirty pounds. Jack gave Harry the rest of the money inside his wallet on the young boy's command. Then Harry ordered Jack to walk on home. He felt a little guilty about doing something so cruel to the man but he squashed it at once and said to himself angrily, "Stop getting soft on me, Potter!"

He was about to walk inside the Leaky Cauldron when he remembered (thanks to his angry shouting at himself) that he was Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the famous hero of the magical world. He had to disguise himself. His scar at least. He conjured a hat and waved his wand over his eyes, turning it blue. Then, pocketing the wand he entered with a deep breath.

Inside, the café was dark and damp and smelled like beer and fried burgers covered in the distinct smell of Earl Grey tea. People were babbling to each other, which on the whole, sounded like a concert symphony. The voice of the crowd, Harry noticed detachedly, had a remarkable harmony of its own. Although he wasn't a lover of classical music and Beethoven and Mozart like Mr. White, he did pick up a few things from Mr. White's endless drunken lectures about the finer points of music.

He walked up to the owner who was wiping coffee cups – not the paper kinds which were stacked on the counter toward the side, the white ones that nobody used, but rather the ceramic ones – with a pink fluffy towel. "Sir, I need help."

The man looked up and his eyes crinkled in joy. He beamed at Harry and said, "Muggleborn are ya? Mah name's Tom, short for Thomas, how can I be o' service to yer?"

"I need to get to Diagon Alley," Harry said in precise tones, slightly disguising his voice to a higher smoother baritone. "But I'm not sure how."

Tom nodded and scratched the 9 o'clock shadow growing on his face. "I reckon you'd have to go down the back. Here I'll show you the combination to get through the red wall to our world."

Harry followed Tom into a back alley. At the end, there was a red bricked wall. Tom showed Harry which bricks to tap with his wand when he got one and did it for him. The red bricked wall opened up to reveal Diagon Alley. Since Tom was carefully watching his face, Harry imitated surprise and awe. Tom grinned brightly. "Alright there, here you go."

"Thanks," Harry said and walked quickly, hearing Tom chuckling behind him. He walked straight ahead, with about a hundred and seventy pounds in his pocket. He could get galleons from Gringotts. He didn't have his Hogwarts letter, but he had memorized most of it so he could get the textbooks he required. At first he didn't want to, as he knew everything but he also did not want to appear too suspicious.

He ascended the white marble steps of Gringotts and walked into the bank. Red carpets on the floor and a milky colour of paint overlaying on the walls made Gringotts seem… safe. An inscription lay atop the entrance on a golden plaque. Harry read it quickly with barely a glance and entered premiere bank of the magical world. He waited in line at a teller, and when it was his turn, he told the goblin sitting behind the desk that he wanted to exchange muggle pounds for galleons.

"That will be five pounds a galleon, flat rates. Take it or leave it," the goblin said in fixed tones. Harry accepted this at face value and gave him all the muggle money he had in his pocket. He got back thirty four galleons, shiny gold coins with a latin inscription on the bottom of a robed wizard with an owl clutched on his hand that translated into: "Official Money for British Wizarding"

Harry calculated that he would have enough money for his wands, robe, and potion ingredients. No money for textbooks. He didn't mind that much because he was a natural genius so he could get by. It would look pretty cool to be really smart as well, very noticeable. Harry didn't particularly care for the attention because he wouldn't be able to do things that would be considered sneaky and illicit or illegal.

He would have too much attention upon himself to get away with many things. Too many people would notice his facial features, his every change and movement and then he would get predictable. When you watch a person for a long time you can predict his next moves easily as well as what he is doing or thinking and going through emotionally. It's all in the unconscious movement of your fingers and eyes. You can't control them unless you specifically pay a lot of attention to them.

He walked zestfully down Diagon Alley, keeping his head down. Nobody could see his scar because of his hat so he didn't attract much notice. He entered Olivander's, and saw the old man with the half moon glasses and sharp electric eyes. "Why what do we have here?" He said, and then frowned slightly. But it passed. "Harry Potter, I was expecting you," he said.

"I need a wand," Harry explained, hoping Olivander didn't remember. Hadn't White blocked out his memory or something.

"Of course, don't we all?" He said, almost mockingly as if… as if… Harry's heart froze in his chest. He knew! The old man knew all about him. But what would he do. Apparently nothing. Olivander went into the back, ruffling around a few boxes, and then came out holding a wooden box very carefully.

"This is our latest shipment from Fuenshji, the wand shop in China. This wand is a really new product even though it's core is ancient. The core is made out of a magical sea creature thought extinct for ages. It's made out of the bone of a creature that existed in the dinosaur era. I think this will really suit you."

Olivander opened the box, showing a pale wooden wand that had a slightly greenish tinge to the wood. "The wood is bamboo, but a strain of which I have never seen before. Perhaps a cross with some other type of wood. The Chinese are very innovative and intuitive magicians."

Harry grabbed the wand and gave it a wave. He felt a jet of heat rushed from his belly upward to his head and over his entire body. Sparks flew out of the wand twelve meters into the air, knocking over several shelves.

Harry was unconcerned because as he waved it again, letting green and black sparks out, he thought he finally found his home. "I like it," Harry said, almost out of breath. "How much?"

"This is a relatively new wand for testing purposes. I'm glad you like it Harry. As it is for testing purposes I don't think I'll charge you a single sickle on it but I do want you to send me monthly reports of how this wand is working out for you." Olivander said, smiling thinly. His electric eyes shimmered with hidden cunning.

"That's it?" asked Harry, surprised. "How kind of you," he murmured and then nodding, he walked out the door. That was… strange. Still, grabbing the new wand tightly in his hand he thought he found the perfect partner.

The wand had a dark aura to it just as Merlin's wand had a lighter aura to it. This wand would be perfect for dark magic just as Merlin's wand would be perfect for light magic. It was funny how the universe balanced itself out trying to achieve equilibrium.

As he walked on to Madame Malkin's robe shop, he thought of an idea. He could always get more money from the muggle world, just using imperio on rich people. That would be easy enough but on the off chance that he might get caught…wait, wasn't the imperio impossible to track down. Yeah… it was.

His heart was filled with excitement and his footsteps skipped a beat. He had a free source of money to buy books and supplies and live in the muggle world indefinitely. He didn't need the White mansion. That was so big of a target. Hiding in the muggle world he could escape under the surveillance of wizard assassins who were bent on capturing the boy who lived.

He entered Madame Malkin's, and ordered a set of Hogwarts robes. She measured and fitted him detachedly as if she were bored, and once Harry got his robes he found he only had a few more galleons left. He stopped at Lévesque's ice cream shop and ordered a vanilla toffee cone. It was scrumptious! Then he went to the Quidditch shop. Though he might be a dark genius who knew a vast array of spells and techniques to kill and maim he was still boyish in heart and he loved quidditch more than anything in the world. He looked at the Nimbus 2000 in pure greed and envy, wishing he could procure it for himself. With only a few galleons left he was going through a boyish crisis.

Should he get a book, or get a little toy from this Quidditch shop? In the end, the boyish childish part of him won over and he bought a golden snitch. He watched it fly a little bit away from him and then as fast as a cobra striking he captured it in his hands. He was happy with this little toy. He explored the shop a bit more and then headed down Diagon alley to the bookstore. He didn't buy anything. He just surfed through the bookshelves for a few hours, reading snippets of this and that. He was surprised to find that he knew some of these books – he had read some of them before. But there were so many he hadn't had a chance to read. As he walked out, he caught eyes with the blonde clerk. He decided to put his legilimency skills to use, and caught the periphery of her thoughts.

"God, what an ugly kid! Look, his nose his broken and he's walking funny. He looks so dirty like some sort of homeless bum. I wonder if most muggleborns are this way before they get to the magical world. So disgusting… Ugh, the claw marks on his face are just-"

Harry felt his face heating up as he realized just how horrible he looked. He walked out of the shop with his head parallel to the ground. Once he was outside, he used Merlin's Wand (he liked that wand) to freshen himself up.

He sprayed a bit of water over his features and applied a glamour charm to make himself look a little bit more normal. Then he found himself at the entrance to Knockturne Alley. He decided to save this part of his exploration for another day and instead headed out Diagon Alley and through the back alley of the Leaky Cauldron.

He walked aimlessly down the muggle streets, his thoughts intent upon Hogwarts. He was surprised to find that he was worried over how the other children would think of him What if… and this thought really scared him… the children were as smart and talented as himself? What if he wasn't special or anything, but just normal on the scale of wizarding children? Considering he could put up a good fight with grown wizards he tried to let go of this thought process but he could not. The fight with Renaud had shaken his confidence in himself.

He wandered over to a public library, which he entered. He was slightly surprised to find the vast array of muggle books waiting for him. Of course he went straight to the non-fiction section, considering that fiction was beneath him and completely useless. He started reading with frenzy.

First he read a book about snakes, taken randomly from the shelf. As he stared at a frozen picture (which he thought strange considering he had grown up in a wizard's house) of a python wrapped around a branch somewhere in the Amazon he found that he had a slight headache. His scar started burning, and he found himself talking. Whispering. Strange noises like hisses came out of his mouth. He was speaking parseltongue. He could not show that talent to other wizards or they would brand him as evil at once. He looked around wondering if anybody else had heard him talking like this.

After spending most of the day reading, he found his thirst for knowledge had only increased. It was like an annoying itch he couldn't scratch at. Luckily he could (he just wouldn't because he had some common sense) scratch at mosquito bites. He walked out of the library around closing time, at 5, and was extremely hungry. His robes were shrunk down to the size of the snitch and in his pocket as was his broom so he didn't have to carry anything.

He walked down London until he saw an old woman in a purple dress walking down the street. Perfect target he thought and surreptitiously used the imperio curse on her. He was worried at how flippantly he was using this unforgivable, but he needed the money. He was just an eleven year old kid in a cold harsh dog eat dog world and he needed to take what he could get.

The woman gave up her purse, which contained a black leather woman's wallet containing six hundred pounds in bills rolled up with a red rubber band. Harry took it, wondering if this was her paycheck. "You've lived long in this world and you've probably been in tougher situations," he told her. "So you'll be alright."

He didn't take the curse completely off her. He did leave her with a final order. "Just be happy." Her face brightened immediately and a gleam of artificial pleasure entered her soft eyes.

Taking the money he found he did not feel elation as he had expected. Instead he felt sorrow and guilt at ruining the life of an old woman like her. He found to his surprise he was starting to hate himself.

After eating a good dinner of fish and chips and a can of coke, he went to a nearby motel with a big 8 sign on a yellow billboard. Renting a room for the night cost fifty pounds. He slept uneasily. The old woman's wrinkled face and black eyes crinkled under the weight of the world kept entering his dreams.

Waking up in the morning he went downstairs for a free breakfast: cup of coffee and doughnuts, and walked to the library. He lost himself in books for a few hours and then when he was bored, he went down Diagon Alley. Going into the same bookshop, he decided to buy the first year books. He had the money after all. And he didn't want to look suspicious.

Shrinking them, he carried them in his pocket and headed down into the Muggle world, in a mall, where he bought a few extra pairs of clothing. Two pairs of jeans and plain gray tee shirts. They were the cheapest available. Harry felt frugal. He didn't want to use the old woman's money. The thought of returning it to her kept entering his mind and he was disturbed by this innocent 'light' thought. Was Merlin's Wand doing this or was it his own inner conscience?

In this way he spent the rest of the summer, between reading at the library to fulfill his thirst for knowledge, staring aimlessly at the wall for brief periods in a state of utter depression and sometimes playing with the golden snitch. He ran out of money half way and had to rob another rich looking muggle. He did not take any joy in it.

Soon September arrived bringing along with it a slightly cold tinge to the warm summer breeze, as if it were warning Harry that winter is coming. It poured the night before Harry was scheduled to depart on the Hogwarts train.

He had bought his ticket from a store in Diagon alley. He packed his things in a conjured trunk, and waited and waited, unable to sleep. He kept the light on and read through his entire first year textbooks with practiced ease. When he got halfway through his potions textbook he realized his problem. He was lonely.

The next morning, after a delicious breakfast of ice cream and coffee, he bought a pack of gum from the counter of the motel he was staying in and headed off to the train station via a taxi cab. Entering the station he began to look around for platform nine and three quarters.

He found nine and ten and it did not take too long to deduce that nine and three quarters must be that red wall over there where all the funny dressed people were passing through. He walked toward the wall and closed his eyes, feeling a shimmer go up and down his entire body. He passed through the wall and beheld a red train with shiny metal doors and black wheels. It looked magnificent.

Entering the train, he found himself a compartment and began playing with the new wand he had bought at Olivander's. He ran through all the first year spells as quickly as possible for a warm up. They were supremely easy. He moved on to his own list of spells of the next level when the compartment door opened. He stopped casting magic and looked warily at the stranger.

The boy was about Harry's age with shiny blond locks of hair and grey eyes, staring at Harry as if he were no more than an insect. Harry was conscious of the cap he had on, and the fact that his scar was hidden away beneath it.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," the blond introduced himself and held out a pale hand. Harry was extremely amused inside at what he had done to the Malfoy family just recently. He shook the boy's hand, smirking slightly. "And you are?"

Harry contemplated whether he should give his real name or an alias, and deciding he didn't want the attention he chose the latter option. "Jason," he lied. "I'm a muggle born."

Draco's nose wrinkled, "I see," he said somewhat distastefully, but he had some semblance of politeness to his being. He continued, "What house will you be in? I hope I'm in Slytherin, my family – they are pureblood you know – have been in Slytherin for ages."

"I'd be lucky if I could get to Hufflepuff," Harry said, pretending to play the character of the doofus. "I'm pretty hard working and loyal."

Draco snorted, "You won't get ahead in life if you're in that house. My father told me that Hufflepuff was filled with people with no ambition."

Harry shrugged, "I'm not that ambitious I guess. I just want to be happy and enjoy life." That much was true enough. Harry just needed to be powerful too.

"Well, good luck I suppose," Draco said coldly and got out, hauling his trunk with him. Harry sneakily put a heavy weight charm on the trunk to make Draco's life more uncomfortable. He hated the blonde aristocratic boy.

He closed his eyes and slowed down his breathing as the train rocked and started up. He heard rain tapping on the metal roof and the windows as the train journeyed to Hogwarts. Meditating, he tried to concentrate past his injuries, which were still bothering him, though only slightly. His leg was a particularly nasty problem but he kept numbing charms on it. The broken leg held together by a wooden splint felt dead, and not a part of him, like a peg leg. The gashes on his face was healing nicely enough, so all in all, Harry felt pretty much okay.

The trolley cart lady came knocking on the compartment door and Harry brought a few chocolate frogs. He was up for a bit of a snack. As he ate them, his mind traveled to the question Draco had asked him. What house would he get sorted into? Your house was supposed to determine your personality. Well, what sort of personality did Harry have? He was ambitious, hard working, had a great thirst for knowledge, and was brave and courageous as well. Couldn't he fit into all four of the houses?

I'll leave it to the sorting hat to decide, Harry said to himself and drifted off into a restful nap unbroken for a long stretch. He awoke to the whistling of a horn that announced the train had reached it's stop.

Harry got out of the compartment and was faced with a great black lake. He heard a voice – Hagrid – saying, "First years! First years!" Harry walked over toward the half giant and put a glamour on his features. Hagrid had probably been looking for Harry all summer and would be mighty annoyed when he saw Harry. Plus, he didn't want to attract attention. He would get that at the sorting ceremony.

Harry got onto a boat with Malfoy and two thugs named Crabbe and Goyle. The three of them ignored him much of the way, talking about Hogwarts and ghosts and the sorting ceremony.

"Alright, here's Hogwarts!" Hagrid shouted. He was sitting in another boat and watched the student's expressions carefully. He was not disappointed.

When Harry caught sight of the mighty castle with it's tall grey spires stretching into the star filled sky as well as it's large oak wood doors and the towers, he felt a sudden awe and amazement. He felt a burst of excitement just waiting to be unleashed and before he could catch himself, he said aloud, "That's amazing!"

Harry had never seen something so beautiful in real life (he had seen a picture of Hogwarts on the cover of Hogwarts: A History), and it turned out that neither had Draco nor his two cronies.

Once they got off onto the other side the boats magically rowed themselves back across the lake. Hagrid led them inside the castles where the paintings moved and spoke and several ghosts floated by. A tall woman with black hair tied tightly in a bun entered the chamber they were in.

"My name is professor McGonnagall and you're going to be sorted into…" Harry tuned her out, and instead mentally repeated Shayum Shayum Shayum to calm himself down. He took deep breaths, telling himself not to be scared. But he couldn't help it. He found it discerning that he was just as excited as the rest of the eleven year olds and a cold feeling gripped the bottom of his stomach as he realized that he was no better than them either.

Sure he might be more skillful and smarter but in reality, everybody was equal regardless. This feeling was an enlightening moment lasting barely a second but it left Harry disgruntled and annoyed. _It's okay Harry, _he thought, _you can be scared. You can let yourself be an eleven year old like you truly are. _He let out a small sigh, and felt a tight ball of tension unloosening from his body.

The students were filing into the great hall one by one. Harry saw a giant see through dome above that looked like the ceiling as well as hundreds of candles floating magically up in the air. He heard some bushy haired girl say something about reading this in Hogwarts: A History. His attention was far more focused on the teachers, as he filed each of them away in his memory. His eyes drifted toward Albus Dumbledore, the man he had come to kill… but now he wasn't so sure if he wanted to. He couldn't explain it to himself, but he had changed slightly. He blamed it on Merlin's Wand, and felt it resting against his calf where he always kept it. The wand he had bought in Diagon alley he had put in his pocket.

The Sorting Hat sang a song. It went like this:

_"I may not be the best looking hat,_

_Or the most fashionable, no indeed,_

_But I doubt you'll find a smarter hat than me! _

_Brave Gryffindor filled with hard headed fools and _

_Where valour and glory rules, _

_Ravenclaws, noses stuck in books,_

_Seeking knowledge above looks,_

_Slytherin where the cunning snakes do lie,_

_Ready to strike, never ready to die,_

_Hufflepuff the loyal sort, _

_Filled with hard working industrious cohorts._

_Oh which house to sort you children in,_

_A place where you'll grow up to be good and bright,_

_And not run to your mommies at night! _

_Come on then children don't be shy,_

_No need to worry, no need to cry. _

_For I'm the Sorting Hat, been so for too long,_

_I'll put you where you truly belong!" _

The strict looking teacher pulled out a roll of parchment and started calling students one by one to be sorted by an ancient relic of a hat. Harry waited for his turn. It came soon enough and it startled him because as soon as McGonnagall called out his name whispering broke out among the students. Sighing, Harry took off his own cap and walked toward the stool. He put on the Sorting Hat and waited in darkness.

"Well well, what do we have here Mr. Potter? My, you've had a dark history full of evil and triumph and… oh… you have cast dark magic as well. Hmm… I sense a bit of dilemma inside you, good and evil fighting against each other, a moral battle… Where to put you…?"

"Anything," answered Harry, "Anything that makes me happy."

"Happiness, hmm? The much looked for treasure that hardly anybody finds. But you are ambitious as well, so ambitious, such a lust for power and respect. You have a great thirst to prove yourself. And you are courageous too. I think the best place to put you in would be…"

The hat shouted out its answer to the Great Hall, and Harry reluctantly took off the Sorting Hat and went to take his seat.

There was no twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes as he stared down at the Boy Who Lived.

* * *

AN: By chapter 19 we'll be about finished with first year and move on. So only seven more chapters to go. As such you can be sure to expect longer and longer chapters! I think I'll keep up with the 7k-word chapter basis from now on because it allows me to really flesh out the scenes and give more intricate detail. This makes the story richer and builds better imagery. Anyways enough with my rambling, enjoy the (long) chapter, and please please please _leave a review_ with your opinions of where this story should go. Not only are they super encouraging but they also influence the direction of this story. I'm basically writing this story with NO outline other than the one in the first chapter, so if I get stuck for ideas,** I can look to the reviews to help me out.**

Two things: what house will Harry be sorted into? I want good reasons for this. I'm thinking of Slytherin but I feel it's a bit too cliché and I want to AVOID clichés. So far I think I've been pretty original (as original as you can be in fan fiction anyways) with this story. However I'm willing to accept popular opinion so if you want HP to be in the house of snakes I'm all for it.

And the second thing, will Harry become an animagus like his father? If so, what animal? I know it's going a bit on the cliché side but lately I haven't seen it used too often. I definitely want him to become more powerful. So I need an original animal to turn him into. NO SUPER URBER MAGICAL CREATURES! Any ideas? I was thinking of these four:

1. Eagle (flap flap flap)

2. Squirrel (he'll steal your nuts!)

3. Shark (totally cool but useless)

4. Elephant (this would be pretty hilarious I think)

Remember to review guys. I especially love **LONG reviews**, but whatever, a note of encouragement is good enough too.


	13. the sorting hat's answer

Chapter 13: The Sorting Hat's Answer

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Dumbledore awaited the Sorting Hat's answer eagerly, because it would show what sort of personality Harry Potter had and thus it would reveal his true inner character which Albus could use to manipulate the young child for the greater good. He did not think of it as manipulation, rather as careful parental guidance for the child who had no parents. He wondered his mind back to Hagrid, saying that the mansion in which Harry had lived was abandoned and he could not find Harry Potter. Albus had come to the mansion himself and found that Harry's things were present but the boy himself was gone. Plus the house looked to be in ruins as if a big fight had taken place. And worst of all, there had been no signs of the Dursleys.

He went to Privet Drive to visit the Dursleys and had found out that they had abandoned him at an orphanage of all places. From there Dumbledore had followed the trail to the obviously magical residence in which Harry had been last known to reside. In the chain of events, some parts were missing, and Albus hated to be in ignorance, unknowledgeable of the important things.

He opted to wait and watch Harry before acting, because he was supremely good at patience having lived for so long, he knew that patience was the best solution to EVERYTHING, because it always seemed to work, sooner or later. So long as you had patience your problems was as good as solved. That's why Albus always appeared happy and relaxed no matter what the situation because he was the most patient man alive.

Albus was hoping Harry Potter was put in Hufflepuff, the weakest house of the lot. They were innocent and loyal and worked hard. If Harry was put in the Hufflepuff house he would make lots of friends and he would accept Dumbledore's guidance more easily. Gryffindor was the next best. Then Slytherin. Ravenclaw would be absolutely the worst option because if Harry demanded to know everything before going into a situation, it would cause problems for Albus. He had already set up a challenge by way of the philosopher's stone for Harry, and he hoped he could get Harry to fall into the trap. But no ravenclaw would fall for traps like that. They were too smart to get themselves thrown in reckless situations.

Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, Dumbledore hoped. But his hopes would soon be squashed. He looked intensely at the hat, wondering if he should peek in on the conversation using his mind arts. That would be snooping, and Dumbledore was polite. He also did not want the hat to be angry at him later, because the hat was a good adviser to Albus, and the headmaster used him often to advise him on almost all matters from lemon drop selection to the political games played by the wizengamot and the Ministry.

The sorting hat looked at the crowd, it's black folds rippling open into the shape of the mouth. Taking in a deep wheeze of a breath, the hat shouted out in a loud roaring voice to the still and expecting crowd breaking the silence like the crack of thunder.

"SLYTHERIN!" The entire hall was silent for a few moments seeming to stretch on into eternity. Then suddenly a blonde boy whom Harry remembered as Draco Malfoy started clapping proudly and firmly, and all at once the Slytherin table joined him, until their cheers and applause drowned out the silence that came pouring out of the rest of the hall. The other three groups of children sitting at their tables looked on in astonishment and disbelief. Harry got off his stool, somewhat nervous at all the eyes staring at him, and took bold striking steps toward the Slytherin table.

Green banners hung down from the ceiling above the table billowing from an unfelt wind. The picture of a silver snake -- its eyes blue and gray sharp like the edge of a dagger gazed down at the Boy who lived.

Harry Potter calmly took his seat, taking in the accusing stares of the rest of the children in the Great Hall with a remarkable easiness that he did not feel on the inside. His heart was churning and he grew anxious but outwardly he showed a calm and relaxed face, and made sure to stretch his lips into the semblance of a natural smile. He let his eyes drift across the staff table at Albus Dumbledore, whose blue gaze was looking intently at Harry, and then at Professor Severus Snape, whom Harry had read about in the history books. Supposedly a spy. As he took in the rest of the teachers, he felt a tapping on his shoulder and turned to meet Draco Malfoy's frowning stare.

"Harry Potter, you told me you were a muggle born," he said sharply, "and you wanted to get into Hufflepuff!" He let his fingers tap the hardwood of the table in an unspoken demand. "What is the meaning of this?"

"I did not want the attention, Draco," Harry said smoothly, and tried to drown out the whispers of the Gryffindor table in particular.

He heard one of the red haired twins, whom he had noticed earlier staring at him in shock as he went to the Slytherin table, shout accusingly, "That's the house You Know Who was in!" This seemed to bring out another wave of whispers and dialogue that Harry did not particularly want nor cared for. He felt uncomfortable under the attention.

The sorting ceremony continued, not that Harry paid much attention to it. He intently focused on the golden silverware in front of him, and then felt the cold shiver of a ghost floating nearby. He turned to see the Bloody Baron look down upon him, Slytherin's ghost. The menacing phantom had a pencil thin mustache and looked like a frail sickly looking man. But he was covered in blood, his face had a menacing tint as he gazed downward toward Harry, and his whole image shouted out danger. "Mr. Potter," said the Baron in a cold gravelly voice, "There has not been a Potter in Slytherin for over seven generations."

"Is that so? I guess I must be breaking the mold then, huh?" said Harry. He felt himself being scrutinized intensely under the gaze of his fellow peers of the Slytherin house. "I wasn't expecting this myself. The hat said I would make a good student in Gryffindor."

This seemed to have the intended effect of starting up a semblance of a conversation. Tracy, a first year like himself with long golden hair and a strange scar or discoloration on the tip of her nose, said, "You are out of your place here, Potter," in a sneering manner with her upper lip pulled back contemptuously.

Draco shot her an annoyed look, "Don't be ridiculous, Tracy," he said. "Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived – could not have been in any other house but Slytherin. This great and noble house was the only place he could have gone. Regardless, if he would have been better off in Gryffindor or not." He held out a hand to Harry, "We might have met before, but let's do this correctly this time. Draco Malfoy."

Harry wondered what Draco was playing at, considering the Malfoy family was a staunch supporter of the dark. He had expected Draco and himself to be fierce rivals, but it seemed as if Draco was trying to get in his good graces. Why, Harry wondered, thinking, what's he doing this for?

He decided to employ a subtle legilimency technique. Gazing into Draco's eyes, he focused on the boy's mind and tried to pick up his surface thoughts. He felt the boy's mind through his inner eye and entered it easily, like he was a stream of water moving between rocky outcroppings. He found out what he was looking for.

Draco wanted to use Harry for his own personal benefit. The blond boy did not care one whit about Harry; in fact he secretly hated the boy who lived. No, he just wanted to get into Harry's good graces so he could use him later in life. Now that Harry was forewarned, he could easily see through the young Malfoy scion's childish manipulations. Harry himself needed a few friends around him, especially in strange territory. Besides, Harry would not do good to rebuff Draco's advances for friendship. To do so would be impolite, and to make an unnecessary enemy out of Draco seemed…. Unnecessary.

Draco's cheeks started to redden. Realizing Harry had taken too long, he grabbed Draco's hand tightly just as the boy was about to pull back. Shaking vigorously, Harry said, "Good to meet you Draco."

Harry breathed in deeply to relax himself just as Albus Dumbledore stood up, his blue robes shimmering in the candlelight of the great hall. He prepared himself to make a speech. Harry's gaze was unexpectedly drawn to the professor in a purple turban, whose black eyes held a shimmer of red hatred. Harry felt a sharp pain in his scar, and recognized it for what it was: a direct piercing legilimency attack made from afar. He strengthened his shields, and the pain disappeared.

As Dumbledore made his speech, Harry mentally repeated his mantra with greater intensity, seeing his shield with his inner eye become stronger and more fortified. He smiled in satisfaction at the somewhat perturbed look on the strange turban headed professor's face.

"Children of Hogwarts, welcome, welcome, to another year at this splendid institution. We are particularly delighted to announce that the third floor is out of bounds to all students, as is the Forbidden Forest!"

As Dumbledore finished his speech, Draco leaned over toward him and said, "The man's barmy, I think."

"Probably is," Harry said, agreeing, "But he's extremely well respected, so I'd keep that opinion to yourself if I were you." As soon as Harry said it, he realized he had made a mistake. The other students were looking at him with suspicion and a certain sense of bei

Draco blinked, and smirked, "No wonder you were sorted into Slytherin. As cunning as a snake, Potter. I wonder how it was that you managed to defeat You Know Who…"

Harry glanced at Draco in annoyance. "I don't know," he said, "But if you ever find out, let me in on the secret."

Draco chuckled softly and then gasped aloud as food suddenly appeared on the golden plates and goblets. Thick red juice filled up inside big buckets from which one had to dip their goblets in. Harry took some and tasted it, letting the sweet juice roll around inside his mouth before swallowing. He helped himself to roasted chicken soaked in a spicy gravy sauce, as well as a bit of white rice and a little bit of yogurt to go along with it. He blended it together with his fork, and started to eat.

A seventh year sat across from him, and kept glancing repeatedly at him and then looked away fast when Harry tried to meet his gaze. After a while, he said, "My name's Tym Barlow. I'm a prefect here, so I just want to introduce myself to…" he glanced down at Harry's plate. "Is that any good? It looks disgusting."

"That's just what I was thinking," laughed Tracy aloud, "You are so right Tym. Harry, what in the world are you doing to your food?"

Harry frowned, "This stuff isn't spicy enough," he said, "I've grown used to muggle food. Curry is the best you know," he said, remembering his summer in London where he would dine at an Indian restaurant every night. He waved his wand and conjured a stream of red powder, which he sprinkled generously onto his gross mix of different food. This had two effects that Harry liked. First it let the Slytherins know he could do magic, so he wasn't just some naïve boy. He was a real wizard with a firm magical foundation. He wouldn't let himself be taken advantage of. Secondly, his spell changed his plate of food to his liking.

He looked up and met Dumbledore's blue gaze, and his twinkling eyes staring at Harry with amusement and a flicker of curiosity. Te old man raised his goblet at Harry, who did likewise, and they drank to each other. Harry shouted out a challenge to Dumbledore in his mind: 'Someday, old man, I'm going to surpass you.'

Harry felt a force that he had not even notice leave his mind, and he felt his stomach clench into a cold ball of tension. Dumbledore nodded, eyes stern and unforgiving. Harry wondered if Dumbledore had heard his challenge. He had to because Harry had been probed! And he hadn't even known it. How long had this been going on? How long had Dumbledore been reading his mind?

He felt inadequate in his own mental powers and longed to be back home in the White mansion, in safe territory where he could simply soak up in a warm tub and clear his mind of doubts and fears.

Feeling a cold drop of sweat trickle down his back, Harry went back to eating. He made a bit of small talk with those around him. He was surprised because the Slytherins seemed not to mind he was the boy who lived. In fact they respected him because of it. Strange. Harry had thought that since Slytherins were Voldemort's core supporters, they would be intensely angry at him.

Perhaps they were disguising it under a mask of sweetness. The old saying, Honey catches more flies than vinegar made Harry extremely uncomfortable right now, reminding him he did not know these children's motivations.

Children who had been sorted into Slytherin for a reason; because they were cunning and ambitious. Harry wondered whether he was an innocent babe who had fallen down the snake's pit. Then he scoffed at that notion as he remembered the numerous battles he had fought, the people he had been forced to kill. The isolation he had suffered under Mr. White. He had psychological problems, he knew. He had to. No other child could go what he had gone through and come out completely sane. He had made his first kill before he was seven years old!

He could survive Slytherin, he thought. But would he come out of it mentally healthy? He disliked mind games because he recognized his mind was already messed up. For one, he had certain antisocial tendencies. He couldn't stand big crowds like the one in Great Hall. He felt out of his depth here, or as Tracy had put it, he was out of his place. A fish that had jumped onto a boat.

When the dinner was over, Dumbledore made yet another speech, and told everybody to follow their prefects to the common room of their respective houses where they would hear the password they would need to bypass the guardian (either a portrait or a statue) and gain entrance.

Tym led the way for the first years, and Harry and the rest followed like sheep. Harry studied Hogwarts intensely, trying to memorize the elaborate route they were taking down into the dungeons. He wondered if Tym was taking a longer route on purpose. The prefect kept up a running dialogue commenting about all the aspects of Hogwarts. Harry soaked up this information like a sponge. He could naturally soak up information; it came easily to him. Effortless.

As they made their way down the dungeons, Harry felt the air getting thicker, and colder as well. He started to shiver in his thin robes that he had bought at Madam Malkins. It seemed ages ago when he had shopped for his supplies in Diagon Alley. Now that he was here in Hogwarts, he seemed to get more "spaced out" as if he was not as alert as he usually was. As if the school was lulling him into a false sense of safety and security, and drawing him into a dark pit of slumber. He shook it off as hard as he could, and decided that it must have been the heavy meal he had eaten. Indeed, he had never had such a good meal before, such a scrumptious and fulfilling meal as a Hogwart's feast. He wondered if there was something in the food that made him drowsier and more subdued. If there was, how would he survive in Hogwarts without being able to eat the food available?

Tym led them through the dark dungeons where the ground was made of hard cement and the walls were old – as old as when it had first been made over two thousand years ago in the time of Assyrian dominance in the world, when only a few handfuls of people existed in the UK. Vikings mostly. The Viking wizards had established a small school to teach children and it spiraled from there, snowballing upward into greatness.

The students came to a stop in front of a portrait of a thin pale looking man dressed in a silver and green cloak, with a snake wrapped around his body. The snake was black, as black as the night sky and had eyes like crescent moons, glowing silvery with hidden power and cunning. Harry felt sliver of fear go down his spine as he beheld the founder of Slytherin, Salazar Slytherin himself. "This man looks scary," Harry whispered to Draco, who merely chuckled, amused.

"He's supposed to be. He was the most powerful wizard in his time," Draco said. "He held out against all three of the founders for ages before simply leaving."

"What happened to him?" asked Harry. He noticed carefully that the other first years and Tym had stopped, listening to Draco eagerly as he explained the life of Salazar Slytherin.

"He simply disappeared. Some say he went to Asia where he learnt all sorts of dark and powerful magic. Even conquering life and death-"

"He's still alive?" asked Crabbe, who was standing next to Draco. "Huh? But I thought he was dead."

"Nobody know's for sure," Draco hissed in annoyance at being interrupted. "He could be dead, or he could be simply biding his time, waiting for the right moment to show himself and rid the school of mudbloods."

Harry frowned, "He was a hater of muggles, then?" He didn't know how to feel about that. He remembered the old woman he had stolen money from, as well as cast an imperio on her. The old sad face that had haunted his dreams and conscience for so long rose in his mind. He felt a wave of sadness and heart stopping despair as he comprehended her visage in his inner eye. Sadness was the prevailing emotion on her face.

Draco nodded, "Of course, muggles aren't fit to live," he said, "Salazar hated them with a passion." Harry wondered how he felt about that, since as soon as he had seen Slytherin's portrait he had felt an instant respect and liking for him. But he did not hate muggles. He liked their food, he liked their clothes, he liked them in general.

"Enough of this," said a clipped and cold voice that was sharp as a sword yet softer than a whisper. The students whirled around, and caught sight of their head of house, Severus Snape. He was dressed in black billowy robes. His hands were clasped together in front of his chest, yet hidden beneath long arm sleeves. His black eyes looked like a cobra's, ready to strike without any warning. Long greasy hair covered the sides of his face, giving a shadowy look to his pale sallow skin. "Tym, the password, please."

Tym nodded, his eyes glittering with hidden fear. Harry felt sympathy toward the prefect, because Snape looked scary and shadowy, dark and evil. He would not want to cross him in a dark alley, Harry recognized a skillful fighter when he saw one. The way Snape stood told everything about the man, his balance and his grace and poise. He was level with Dumbledore in terms of magical skill.

"Basilisk," Tym said to the portrait. Salazar had been still as a statue, but then he nodded slowly and carefully and said with a grating voice, "Enter my abode." The portrait swung open, revealing the inner chambers of House Slytherin. A fireplace crackled merrily with soft light that came from a rippling wave of fear coming strangely enough through the sides in rhythmic burst. A long sofa in front of the fireplace rested next to several armchairs. Shelves filled with books leaned against the dark walls, and curtains of the colors green and silver hung down covering the windows. They entered quietly, seeing most of the other Slytherins were already present. Snape came in last.

Harry stood in a corner next to Draco and the other first years that felt somewhat intimidated at the almost hostile stares from some of the older students. Harry realized suddenly with a jerk that most of the stares were directed at him! So much for not having any hostile anger against him from the Slytherins…

"This is something I say every year," Snape said quietly, "Something that if you don't pay attention to you will find yourself in a great pit of trouble. There are three rules for the Slytherins that all of you must follow without exception." Snape gazed at them, and when his eyes landed on Harry, he sneered in barely restrained hatred. "If you do break these rules, you shall find the consequences slightly… unpleasant." His tone suggested there was nothing slight about the unpleasantness.

"Rule number one: You will never fight amongst your house members outside of the common room. You will never fight with them where others not of your house can see you. The Slytherins must portray a sense of unity… at least, on the outside." Snape smirked at Harry viciously, and then continued on in his speech.

"Rule two, do not lose house points. This is self-explanatory, I feel. For every house point lost by a particular student, they will serve a detention with me and I guarantee, you will not like it.

"Rule three: Never, ever, ever show any signs of weakness to the other houses. Always remain strong and firm and keep all the underlying qualities of the other three houses in mind. I expect each of you to be loyal, hard working, brave, and seekers of knowledge. Slytherin must be the best house – the top most house out of all the other four houses, and therefore adapt, and develop other good qualities as well. But above all remember what characterizes Slytherin, what distinguishes us from the rest. It is our ambition."

Snape said a few more words and then left, his robes billowing against the floor. Draco turned to Harry, "Good man, Severus Snape. Father used to say he-"

"What happened to your father anyways?" asked a girl named Daphne Greengrass. She had black hair and a roundish sort of face. "I read about him in the Daily Prophet, killed by vigilantes, it said." She laughed softly as she said this. Harry at once realized this was meant not only as an insult, but as a challenge issued to let everybody in the first year know she would be their leader.

Harry felt particularly uncomfortable since he had been the person to kill Lucius Malfoy in the first place. Draco answered, sneering, "Will you be laughing when the dark lord comes back? You blood traitors, abandoning-" He froze when he realized the other students were staring at him and at Harry Potter.

Harry himself did not know what to do, should he respond to this accidental attack on his own person by the likes of a weakling of a boy, or should he simply ignore it and go on his way? If he did ignore it, he would look weak, yet if he retaliated, he might make enemies. Should he be strong and have people after his blood and life, or should he be weak and obscure. He could not handle weakness of any form because he wanted power, power over himself, power over others, and power over circumstances. So he did the only thing he could do in his circumstances. He pulled out his wand.

"The dark lord is not coming back," Harry said softly, "I destroyed him, remember?" He knew that he could easily take on this room full of Slytherins, because they would not know how to attack in sync and would simply be a hindrance to each other. He settled on making a fierce rival out of Draco Malfoy. Should he attack the boy, or should he simply insult the boy. "Tell me, do you have the power to back up your words? How do you know the dark lord is coming back when he has been absent for ten years?"

"I-" Draco stuttered, not knowing what to say. Then he took a deep breath to compose himself, and smiling reassuringly, he said, "I did not mean it like that Harry, not as an insult to you. Of course the dark lord might or might not come back, but you should not worry about that. You are the boy who lived after all so-"

Harry saw instantly what he had to do; a flash of intuiting struck him. The Slytherin house was filled with weak-minded cowards like Draco, who had very little real cunning or intelligence about them. They were the manure on which the real flowers of true Slytherin cunning blossomed. Harry could easily take control of Slytherin house, because he was powerful and strong and the powerful were meant to rule over the weak.

The entire house of Slytherins was filled with weak sheep like people, who went along with the majority. He had to establish himself as the top most person in the Slytherin house so in case the dark lord did come back, he would not be able to get recruits from here. He recognized that him being placed in Slytherin gave him a unique opportunity to develop his own power base. The sorting hat was wise indeed, and put him in this house because it was a good opportunity for Harry to test himself and to learn leadership skills, as well as to develop his charisma. If he was aiming to become somebody powerful – more powerful than Dumbledore or even Voldemort, because he was that ambitious – he had to use the power he already had to gain more.

Pointing his wand at Draco he said softly, "Expelliarmus," and Draco's body was thrown backwards into a shelf of books. His wand came sailing toward Harry. Smiling, Harry took the wand and pocketed it. He was using Ollivander's wand, the one most suited to dark magic. What to do with Draco now? The blonde boy started stuttering like a weakling, saying, "Please, Harry, I did not mean it like that-"

"Drop it Potter," said a high pitched voice from behind Harry. He felt the tip of a wand at the base of his neck. So he complied. He let go of his own wand and started to turn around to meet face to face with the girl who saved Draco. She was obviously an older student, a seventh year. "The dark lord is going to come back," she said, sneering, "And when he does your days are numbered."

"Your days are numbered right now," Harry said, and then pulled out Draco's wand from his pocket and before the girl could cast a spell, he silently blasted her off her feet. She crumpled against a wall and slumped to the floor. Harry summoned his own wand toward him, watching as the Slytherin students looked warily at him as if he were a tiger or a lion. "Anyone else have a problem with me? Let's settle this right now, hmm?" He looked at the older students, some of whom were openly glaring at Harry. Draco stood up to his feet, pale and white faced. Pansy Parkinson, a first year who had helped Draco up, pulled out her wand and shrieked out a cutting curse. Harry effortlessly blocked it and just as he was about to retaliate he heard at least five people shout their own dark curses at him.

Inwardly Harry smirked; he was in his element now. He had a few theories as to how he had gained such incredible skill. One was he was a natural genius. The other was that some of Voldemort's talents rubbed off onto him. Harry used the two wands in synchrony, using his own to cast a shield to block the curses and using the other wand in his left hand to simultaneously cast a stunner at the annoying first year.

He sweeped his wand in an arc, and let loose a stream of boiling hot water at the Slytherins who had attacked him. Some of the innocent ones fell to the floor screaming in pain because of burns, as well as a few of the guilty. More people joined the battle against Harry, launching curses and spells at him as fast as possible. Harry backed himself into a corner, because he did not want a curse coming at his back where he couldn't see it. He cast out spells faster than the entire Slytherin house – or the ones that chose to fight, which weren't that big of a number as most of them simply opted to watch the ensuing battle – and blocked, using all his skills at dueling to do so. He saw that he was fighting against ten of the Slytherins, all of them older students. He knew he could not kill them, because that would get him expelled and in a lot of trouble with the ministry. He also could not maim them too much. He had to use some of the lighter spells.

He knew what to do. Slamming Draco's wand at the floor, he wandlessly summoned Merlin's Wand and laid loose with a vast repertoire of stunners and light jinxes and hexes, churning them out faster than a machine gun. Rays of different coloured lights shot out from the crystal clear wand of Merlin, like all the colors of the rainbow, showing which spells he was casting. He stopped whispering the spells, and used his mind to issue them. It was harder to cast silent spells, and he quickly felt his energy depleting but as he got through the seventh year students' shields, he subdued them and put them down with ease.

The battle was over. He knew that before the night was over the entire school would know what he had done, particularly when the Slytherin common room slammed open, and Dumbledore walked in, followed by Severus Snape and Minerva McGonnagall. They stopped, stared at the damage Harry had done – and it was obviously him judging how he was faced off against the Slytherin students most of whom had their wands out and looked ready to attack. "Potter," hissed Snape, "What have you done? I knew having you in my house would prove to be a mistake but-"

"Enough," said Dumbledore calmly and Snape immediately stopped talking like an obedient dog. "Minerva, get these students medical attention please. Severus, Harry, follow me to my office."

Dumbledore turned around and walked briskly through the hallways, Snape on his heels. Harry reluctantly followed, wondering what would happen to him. He was feeling elated. These students were so weak and unskilled compared to him. And he was barely eleven!

He wondered again why he was so strong and skilled, when other students were so weak. He was a natural prodigy but he suspected there was something more to his immense skill.

Something, he was sure, that had to do with Voldemort and his attack on Harry as a baby. As he walked through the hallways he saw the portraits and ghosts staring at him, whispering about him. He was certain that soon the whole school would know what he had done, how he was the Slytherins' natural enemy. He wondered what would happen to him now.

And where he would go from here. One thing was certain, he had his first taste of dominance over a group of people and he would want to taste this forbidden fruit again and again.

And again.

--

AN: Hello there! It's my summer vacation so expect **faster updates** for sure. Please leave a message for me, tell me what you think about this chapter. Also include some _ideas for future chapters_. Who knows, I might use them if they're good!

And give me some suggestions on how I can **improve my writing **too. Thanks guys, I'm counting on you readers to keep me amazingly motivated this summer!

As you can see I've decided on the house (Slytherin because Harry's super ambitious), but the _**PAIRINGS and the ANIMAGUS FORM**_ are still open to debate. So leave your suggestions, don't be shy!!

Anyways, by chapter 19, first year will be over. So next chapter we're moving pretty fast through the plot. I promise that the plot will be DIFFERENT than just your average philospher's stone plot. There will be MAJOR changes!

Okay I'm done my note, which is really long.** Leave a review!  
**


	14. in the office of albus dumbledore

Chapter 14: In the Office of Albus Dumbledore

* * *

Harry Potter stopped briefly to put his wand in the wand hostler at his calf and continued to follow the two men toward what Harry could only guess would be the headmaster's office. Snape looked back at Harry and glared sharply, and then just as suddenly turned around and kept his gaze on the floor of the hallways as they walked. The whispering seemed to get unbearable, as Harry met under the scrutiny of the accusing stares of the portraits. He seemed to realize that the rumors his fight in the Slytherin house would be soon greatly exaggerated and reach epic proportions. Such was the way rumors and wild embellished stories worked. Harry decided he had made a big mistake by calling so much attention to himself.

As the three kept pace in a line, the Bloody Baron floated toward Harry, and whispered softly in his ear, "The reputation of Slytherin is ruined because of you." But the Baron did not seem particularly annoyed. Rather he was indifferent. "This displeases you?" asked Harry as his thoughts whirled around in his mind. What punishment would Dumbledore give toward him? Detention? Expulsion? They all seemed possible. Harry wanted to be at Hogwarts, he wanted to learn and interact with the other children and grow in his powers, as he knew only fine schooling and good education could do so. But he knew he would not mind terribly if he did get expelled. He could always go to another school to study magic. Besides, he already knew enough magic and could always learn more through books and self learning.

They reached two stone gargoyles that looked horrendously ugly, like fierce monsters. Dumbledore leaned down, wincing as the joints in his back cracked and made popping sounds. He whispered something in one of the gargoyle's ear, and stepped back. The two gargoyles spun away from each other in unison, revealing a hidden entrance. The dark tunnel had a round staircase going upward. As the three climbed the stone stairs, Harry felt the cold seep into him. These stairs were colder than the dungeons even. Reaching a red wood door, Dumbledore opened it with a silver key the size of Harry's hand, and they piled into the office one by one. Harry felt a rush of warm air burst past him as he entered.

He took a seat in front of the desk, a hard chair with a purple cushion resting for comfort. Dumbledore took his place in front of the desk, in a plush armchair, while Snape stood glaring down Harry's neck from the corner. Dumbledore opened a drawer of his desk and pulled out a silver tray, which he levitated toward Harry in an impressive display of wandless magic. Harry particularly liked the control Dumbledore had over his magic. Taking two of the lemon drops, Harry wondered if they were laced with a potion. He watched Snape reluctantly accepting a few when Dumbledore offered. Before opening the candy wrapper, Harry watched Dumbledore carefully put his lemon drop in his mouth first and then Harry judged it to be safe and followed suit. The sour tangy taste gave him a rush of energy and further concentration, as well as a feeling of great calmness. Harry was sure they were laced with a potent… yet harmless… substance.

"Harry Potter, I must admit I am quite surprise at your display of magic in the Slytherin common room. It is astonishing that one your age can take on several seven year students. For that display of skill, I award Slytherin House ten points," Dumbledore said, his blue eyes twinkling like stars. Harry had not forgotten how Dumbledore had tried to pry into his mind and succeeded barely a few hours before. He fought to keep his shields up but found it difficult to do so in the office. The place lulled Harry into drowsiness despite the energy rush of the lemon drop.

Snape growled behind him, "Headmaster, I refuse to have Potter in my house. He is not suited for Slytherin. I cannot-"

"You are right of course," Dumbledore said gently and placatingly, and at once Snape stopped in mid tirade, surprised despite himself. "We will have to switch your house, Harry, for you remaining in Slytherin is a bad idea. You have made too many enemies there already, some of whom who already had a grudge against you for… other reasons."

"Do I get a detention or something, Headmaster?" asked Harry, his voice breaking like a woman in tears. He did not know why, and wondered if it was the lemon drop's effects upon him. "I mean-"

"No," Dumbledore said, and glanced sharply at Snape, shaking his head slightly. "No detention, no punishments of any sort. But you will need to pick a house to transfer into. I suggest Hufflepuff."

"Why?" asked Harry, "Why not Ravenclaw?'

"You'll make true friends there, Harry, loyal friends who will help you when you are in need. And you will gain a good work ethic. Hard work is a treasured virtue."

"I agree," proclaimed Snape loudly, sneering, "Hufflepuff will be the perfect house for a Potter."

"It is not strange for a headmaster to switch a student's house. It has happened before, especially when the student has been under attack, or under unacceptable aggression like you seem to be in Slytherin." Dumbledore said, as if clearing away the confusion of changing Harry's house. "I hope you understand that this is nothing unusual."

Harry nodded, and strengthened his occlumency shields because he had been thinking just that. "Sir, can I go to the Hufflepuff common room then? I need to get some sleep. It is my first day of classes tomorrow after all"

"Why certainly, I shall announce it to the Hufflepuff house myself. Come, I will accompany you and show you the statue that is the entrance to the common room. If you will please follow me, Harry. Severus, see to your more injured students." Snape walked out in a hurry as if eager to get away from Harry. Dumbledore smiled at Harry, showing glinting white teeth between parched thin lips that were a pale red, almost whitish and crinkled like parchment, from old age.

As they walked Dumbledore made small talk with Harry and subtly tried to gather more information about Harry's life. Harry tried to tell him as little as he could but the questions Dumbledore asked were subtle and penetrating and Harry found himself outmatched in this diplomatic conversation game. Dumbledore had years of experience over him. The old man learnt that Harry had been taken under a wizard guardian from the orphanage and tutored in magic as a child. But when Dumbledore asked directly who was the wizard guardian, Harry stayed silent. He could not let Dumbledore know the wizard was a death eater. Dumbledore accepted the silence with practiced ease and continued on with the conversation. "What are your hobbies?" he asked.

"I like to fly," Harry said. "On a broom I mean. I think I'd like to play quidditch."

"I'm sure we can arrange for you to get on the house team. Meet me for a cup of tea during your afternoon break tomorrow. Your new head of house, Professor Sprout, will be delighted. I hear the Hufflepuff team needs a new chaser."

"Me sir, but I'm only a first year," said Harry, astonished. "I mean, I sure would like this but I don't think the other students will be too happy." Harry wondered what Dumbledore was playing at and tried to analyze Dumbledore's comments but the only thing he could glean from it was that Dumbledore was trying to bribe him so he could get closer to Harry and learn more. In fact, Harry guessed that was probably what Dumbledore was trying to do.

"You underestimate your fellow students Harry," Dumbledore said jovially, "When they see your natural talent I'm sure they will accept you. Your father was a Chaser you know."

"James?"

"Who else," said Dumbledore, eyes narrowed in suspicion, as if contemplating something large and complicated. It seemed more of a question than an apathetic rhetorical statement.

"And my mother?" asked Harry, he was curious despite himself. He had always wanted to get to know his real parents and Dumbledore presented a good opportunity for Harry to learn some background information about whom he was and where he was from.

"Lily Evans, she was a bookworm. Like you I imagine. She should have been sorted into Ravenclaw. She loved books. I do too as well and we had many conversations together. It is quite surprising that two booklovers such as we two both got sorted into Gryffindor." Dumbledore said.

"Then why not put me into Gryffindor, where my parents went?" asked Harry, "I mean… shouldn't we continue with it, seems to me like it's a tradition."

This time it was Dumbledore's turn to be silent. Harry took up the mantle of continuing the conversation. "So, what else can you tell me about my parents?"

"James was a wild rogue, a great prankster," Dumbledore said, happy to talk, "He loved a good prank, but he was also a fine student as well. As sharp as they come. He was best in transfiguration, he even became an animagus."

"An animagus? For real?" asked Harry, surprised. "When?"

"When he was barely a fifth year he finished his animagi training and became a stag," Dumbledore said, "I knew of course, though he thought it was a secret. I was never so proud of any other student in all my life."

"I would like to become an animagus," Harry said wistfully, "Can you teach me how? I read that you were a transfiguration teacher. Are you an animagus?"

Dumbledore smiled and shook his head, "I never bothered to undergo the training. I have no use for transforming myself into a bumblebee – that is my animagus form. You can find out yours through a potion."

"But- Maybe you have a few books on it?" Harry asked. They reached a white statue of a badger nailed to the center of the wall of a narrow corridor on the second floor.

"Loyalty," whispered Dumbledore, and the statue's eyes glowed blue, and swung aside like the gargoyles. The wall seemed to melt, revealing a tunnel like structure. "Go inside, Harry, my bones can't stand the crawling."

Harry nodded, "Perhaps we can discuss more about animagus tomorrow?"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said vaguely and turned and walked away with lightning quick strides until he had disappeared around the corner, his white robes billowing much like Snape's robes.

Harry crawled into the hole and heard the badger statue close behind him. He got out at the end of the dark tunnel, into a comforting and extremely large cavern with many doorways leading to a maze of rooms. It was dark; other students were obviously sleeping. Harry went to a sofa, and sat in it. He used his wand to light a fire in the fireplace, and watched the flames crackle, going deep in thought.

He cursed his foolishness; Dumbledore had completely outplayed him in their conversation, and Harry had been turned into a little boy who hanged on his every word. Dumbledore had expertly manipulated him from the quidditch carrot bribe, to the cup of tea tomorrow, to his parents and the animagus forms… giving little hints but nothing substantial. It was only on reflection that Harry realized how well he had been played upon. He doubted a normal person would have even known how Dumbledore was drawing them into a trap, but Harry knew.

He simply knew. One of the qualities of genius was a deep and profound intuition, where upon lightning quick answers would arise in the forefronts of the mind. His mind was telling him how he had been drawn into a trap, hook, line and sinker. Now he had to find a way to get out of it. He fell into a restless sleep and soon it was morning judging by the crowing of the roosters from the fields below near the Forbidden forest.

He awoke to someone shaking him. "Potter? What are you doing in our common room?"

He blinked open his eyes and saw the face of a prefect looming before him. "Who are you?" he said and then yawned loudly. He got up to his feet, "What's your name?"

"I'm Cedric Diggory," the boy said. He offered a smile and a hand to shake. "Good to meet you Harry." Harry shook hands with the boy and then told him a summarized version of last night, how he had been under attack by the other Slytherins and had "chosen" to move here. He put in a bit of flattery too, thinking it might not hurt his chances to get in the good books of the Hufflepuff House.

Cedric patted Harry on the shoulder, "You'll do fine here Harry, we may not be particularly brave, intelligent or ambitious, but we work hard to make up for what we lack. You'll make good friends in this house, and I must say, its good to have you, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said. He pulled out his trunk and enlarged it, and took out a pair of robes. "Where's the shower room? I want to wash myself up before breakfast." Cedric pointed to a doorway with a sign above the white door in the image of a showerhead. "Oh," Harry said. "I didn't see that."

"Most don't until it's pointed out to them, one of the quirks of the Hufflepuff house. Did you know that the badger is the hardest working animal alive?"

"Wow, didn't know that," Harry said, not interested. "Listen, I'll go take a shower and then we'll talk more, okay? I need somebody to give me a tour of this castle, if you're willing to help me that is."

Cedric beamed with pride. "No problem Harry. We'll meet up at breakfast. I'm a chaser for the Quidditch team by the way. Well not yet, but there's an opening, and the captain, Mark Skidmore, told me I have the position."

Harry mentally sighed. "Wow, that's good to hear. But you know there's a bit of a problem with that," he said. "I'm pretty good at quidditch myself, so I think I'll have a go at that position too."

Cedric laughed and ruffled Harry's hair. "Firsties aren't allowed to play quidditch," he said. Then he turned and walked away into his own dormitory to prepare for the first day of class. Harry went into the shower rooms and started up a spray of scalding hot water. He soaked in it, and let all his tensions and stress disappear. He tried to clear his mind of all thoughts. Hogwarts was a very stressful situation. He had another dilemma now. If he did get the chaser position, he would be ostracized from the Hufflepuff house for sure. Yet if he didn't, he wouldn't be able to distinguish himself and gain more power over the students.

Then he wondered, did he want to gain more power at the cost of friendship? Did he even know what friendship meant? As he scrubbed his tangled hair with shampoo, he wondered what having a friend would be like. He hadn't ever had one before.

He dried himself off with a conjured towel, and then changed into a fresh pair of robes before going down for breakfast. Most of the students were already eating and when Harry entered the great hall, heads turned, not in a good way. Whispers abounded in a chain reaction, and suddenly the two Weasley twins came and dragged him to the Gryffindor table, laughing jovially, "It's not everyday that a little firstie kicks half of the Slytherins' asses!" said one of them, and the other twin chuckled merrily. "You should have been placed in Gryffindor!"

"The hat said I would do good in this house," Harry lied, as he sat down next to them. He introduced himself to the Gryfindors, and met the acquaintance of several of the older students. "Dumbledore transferred me to Hufflepuff," he said, "That's a good house?"

"No its not," quipped Ron Weasley, "Its full of doofuses!"

"You're a doofus yourself, Ron," said Fred, "Don't make fun of Harry's new house. He's a hero!"

Harry laughed along, and nibbled on a scone and took sips of tea as he nodded at the twins' numerous never-ending jokes and made trivial conversation with the others at the table. Dumbledore, he knew, was looking at him, happy, amused, eyes twinkling.

"So, what's classes like?" asked Harry to nobody in particular. A cacophony of shouts and talking arose to answer Harry's questions. The twins put their hands up, and immediately the group around them silenced. Then, attempting to look serious, one of them said: "Horrible Harry. You have to do all sorts of nasty things-"

Harry looked into George's eyes and attempted a legilimency attack, a real one. A subtle one. He probed deep inside George's mind and found the pranks he played on people, and the ambitions he and his twin had to start a joke shop. Memories floated by as he absorbed it into his own mind. He looked for the memories of the teachers and found McGonnagall, always angry at them yet amused at the same time, Sprout the herbology teacher, fair and nice, Snape, the meaneast teacher alive who had a particular hot spot for the twins, and of course Albus Dumbledore. The old man, Harry learnt, invited the twins to his office often to discuss pranks, and even helped plan some with the twins. That was a surprising tidbit of information. Then Harry came across the map, Padfoot, Prongs, Moony, and Wormtail's Maurader's Map. He learnt they didn't know where it was from except they had flinched it from Filch's office a few years ago. He suddenly had an idea. Hardening his gaze, Harry said, "I want my map, George."

George pulled back, surprised. "What map?" he said, playing innocent. Though his eyes showed he was extremely uncomfortable with where this conversation was going.

"The Maurader's Map," Harry said. He knew he would need the map later on, because Hogwarts would be his home territory and if Renaud ever showed up to kill him or kidnap him, he would need every advantage. Plus, if he wanted to sneak into the Restricted section in the library to learn how to be an animagus, he would definitely need a map such as the one the twins had. "It's my property by right. My father and his friends made it," Harry said, lying out of his teeth. He was quite sure his father had never made such a thing.

"Your father?"

"Padfoot," Harry said, "He's my father, and his friends too."

"He made the marauder's map?" Fred asked, incredulously. They got up and Harry along with them, and unanimously went over to a corner to have a hurried whispered conversation in which the Weasley twins expressed their undying admiration for the pranksters known as the Marauders, and how they wanted to follow in their footsteps. Then, looking at one another, and nodding, Fred pulled out a yellow with age piece of parchment. He handed it to Harry, "If you know all about the marauder's map, you probably know how to work it right?"

Harry recognized that this was a test. He could pass it easily because the twins were not good at legilimency. He looked deeply into Fred's eyes and then found the required sentence. Tapping his wand on the piece of parchment, he said, "I solemnly swear I am up to no good." Fred and George gasped because they probably did not think Harry was telling the whole truth.

The parchment changed to a map, which Harry studied carefully. "Interesting," he murmured. "Thanks Fred, George," he said nodding at them. Then he turned and started to walk away. One of them put a hand on his shoulder, "Listen," said the twin, "If you ever need anything, just ask us, alright?"

"Yeah, thanks," Harry said distractedly as he pocketed the map after saying Mischief Managed. He had finished his breakfast and decided to go to class. First he needed a time table. Luckily, Cedric came and handed Harry the time table, "Professor Sprout told me to give you this Harry."

Harry looked at it, and saw that he had Transfiguration first along with the Ravenclaws. Then he had potions with the Slytherins. After lunch, herbology with the Ravenclaws, and the day ended with Defence against the Dark Arts. And that was only for today! Tomorrow he had flying lessons as well. The curriculum at Hogwarts was obviously intensive. Harry wondered if he would find it easy or difficult. Logic told him it would be easy, but the part of him that was still a boy, still inexperienced and underage, was worried.

At least he got a valued map, by lying and stealing, but he did not feel the least bit guilty about it. He reflected on how much power legilimency gave him. It was getting easier the more he did it, until he thought it would be almost second nature to scan a person's surface thoughts. He wondered if this is what Dumbledore did to his students and decided, probably it was. Still, legilimency afforded the user a lot of information, and information was power. Using the right information, Harry had gotten a priceless artifact that he could use to exploit Hogwarts. Everything and everyone was under his surveillance with this map, including Albus Dumbledore. If he were ever going to kill the old man he would need this map. He knew he would need to learn a lot and train harder than ever, and he probably wouldn't be ready until his seventh year, and that was only if he worked as hard as possible and gave his all to learning and becoming more skillful.

He also wanted a group – a core group – around him like Voldemort's death eaters. A group of skilled students he could trust to protect him. He had plans of taking them under his wing, making them his own followers and then in time – years down the road – he could start his own… organization ala Voldemort or Grindelwald. Then he realized something important, he would never find anybody of skill and inclination to the dark arts in Hufflepuff. They would obviously be loyal to the light side no matter what. Same with Gryffindor. Only Ravenclaw and Slytherin posed the possibility of developing a group around him. And who had kept him out of Ravenclaw? Dumbledore. The old man was a master chess player, only he played with human lives. And he was good at it too.

He entered the Transfiguration classroom, and found he was late. He had been lost in his thoughts. Thankfully the teacher was not there yet. There was only a cat glaring at him from atop a desk. Harry looked blankly at the cat, and took a seat in the back of the room. The cat immediately transformed into an older woman, namely Professor McGonnagall. She was an animagus, thought Harry in surprise. He leaned in closer to pay attention. "Harry Potter, nice of you to join us. However you are late. Two points from Hufflepuff for tardiness."

The Hufflepuffs glared at him angrily, and Harry smiled back weakly. Why did the point system matter? It was so idiotic. He didn't say anything in reply and instead settled back as the professor began her lecture. She talked about transfiguration, an introduction and how they would be changing needles into matchsticks or something and then at the end of the year they would be able to change one object into another.

Harry was awestruck. He was stupefied. He was completely and utterly unimpressed. This was it? He could do this when he was five. He remembered how Mr. White would teach him something like this in a day what Hogwarts would teach in a year, judging by the curriculum. Mr. White would of course use a mild pain curse if Harry took too long to master a spell. Sometimes a crucio curse if Harry complained whatsoever. Tough love. Then he wondered if he should play his skills down a bit, or should he simply show what he could do. If he showed how talented he was, he would immediately get respect from the students, and perhaps invite their jealousy and envy as well. However if he kept a low profile he could keep his skills hidden and thus be underestimated by his future enemies, as well as Albus, whom Harry was sure had eyes everywhere. The transfiguration assignment was ridiculously easy, though Harry copied the unskilled boy beside him.

Minerva tsked at Harry and said something along the lines of, "I thought I should have expected better of you…"

Harry sighed. His life was filled with problems lately.


	15. Chapter 15: The Hufflepuffs

Dark Prodigy

Chapter Fifteen: The HufflePuffs

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Dear Mr. Ollivander

The wand is working very well. I'm doing great in school with it. I was afraid I would have to pretend to be stupid and less intelligent than my peers in transfiguration, charms, and other wand work courses, but I got over that. I am enjoying this wand very much. It's working well for me, and is giving me amazing results so far.

The only problem I have with this wand is when I attempt advanced spellwork (from books I found in the restricted section at Hogwarts) the wand vibrates and chimes strangely. I know this is an experimental wand and has some kinks that still need to be worked out. I hope I don't have any more problems with this wand, but if I do I will let you know right away.

Yours,

Harry Potter.

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Dear Mr. Huggard,

I read in the Daily Prophet you are selling your entire library to the highest bidder. I have access to my trust fund and would like to work out a deal with you for your library. I know your mother was very much obsessed with the dark arts and had unique books about rituals, which I am interested in. I would like to offer you a thousand galleons for five of those books, which I will select personally. If this is acceptable, write me back.

Yours,

Harry Potter.

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Dear Mrs. Alphonso,

As a quidditch obsessed fan, I want to buy your newest spanish broom from your company. A little bird told me you have created a new model that goes twice as fast as the new Nimbus 2000. I have recently been offered the position of Chaser on the hufflepuff team, even though I am a first year. (Cedric Diggory was not pleased; the captain had gaurenteed the position to him but when the captain saw my talent, he simply couldn't resist saying no to me.) I know you need test subjects for your broom, and my fame will help market it when it comes out for sale to the general public.

Please write me back. I am willing to offer a significant amount of galleons for the broom if you so ask.

Yours,

Harry Potter.

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Dar Mr. Ollivander,

I'm afraid your offer is not acceptable. I need this wand for my daily spellwork and cannot send it back to you. The delay for you to mail me a new wand is simply unacceptable for me right now as a student of Hogwarts. I am currently getting personal training from Professor Flitwick in duelling and as such I require this wand very much.

I want to ask you if its possible to make me a personalized wand using my own hair as a core.

Yours,

Harry Potter.

-------

Dear Mr. Huggard,

I assure you I won't abuse your books in any way. I simply want to read it for instructional purposes only.

Yours,

Harry Potter.

P.S I attached the thousand galleons

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Dear Mrs. Alphonso,

Thank you so much for your experimental model of the broom "Potter Lightning." I especially like the name. If your product is of high quality and meets my needs I will be happy to endorse it for you.

Yours,

Harry Potter.

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"Harry are you ready for our first quidditch match?" asked Cedric in the Hufflepuff common room as they sat alone, doing homework. It was late at night, and Harry was finishing an essay for potions. Snape was a hard taskmaster and accepted only the best from Harry once he had found how talented he was at potions. Harry looked up at Cedric and asked, "Do you hate me for taking your position?"

"I used to but I got over it," Cedric said, staring out the window at the rainy sky. "I wish I had that position, I won't lie, but you are the best for the team and I just have to accept that."

"I'm ready, those Slytherins won't stand a chance against me."

"I heard how you took out half of the Slytherin house on the first day," Cedric said with a chuckle. "They're going to want revenge."

Harry grinned savagely, "Let them come Cedric, I'm perfectly capable of handling them."

"I know you are, Harry. You're talented, a genius they're saying. I think we're going to win the cup this year because of you. I mean, you're the top student." Cedric smiled, and then fingered his wand lightly as he attempted to transfigure his quill into a bunny.

"I have my problems too," Harry said quietly, staring into the fireplace. The fire roared and cackled merrily, lulling Harry into a hypnotic trance, almost.

"What problems?" Cedric asked. "I doubt you have anything to worry about. I mean, you're famous right. And you're the top student."

"Voldemort's not gone, Cedric," Harry said, looking deeply into his brown eyes as hard as he could. "Voldemort's going to return and he's going to come after me. Would you trade lives if you could with me?"

Cedric chuckled uncomfortably. "In a heart beat."

"What if he was back right now? Then?"

"Hell no, Harry, I wouldn't want to face the Dark Lord if he's going to come after me."

"Exactly, Cedric," Harry said. "His death eaters are still out there, still yearning for revenge. You don't want my life, Cedric, you don't want my war."

"Your war? There is no war," Cedric said. He nursed a cup of hot chocolate and brought it to his lips, drinking slowly. Rain pounded harder outside, a bolt of lightning shot in the air, creating a dangerous flash of light in the dim room. Thunder rolled overhead, and Harry stood up.

"Yes there is. I can feel it coming like the waves running to the shore. It's only a matter of time." Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. "It's only a matter of time," he whispered.

Then he pulled out his wand and pointed it at Cedric's quill. It instantly changed into a white snowy bunny.

"How did you do that, I've been trying for ages to get this spell right," Cedric exclaimed, but when he looked over, Harry had vanished. The portrait door shut with a bang indicating Harry was going out to sneak in the night.

Cedric wondered if Harry got more than four hours of sleep every night. Some how he thought even that number was an exaggeration. Death eaters and the Dark Lord, Cedric thought, what worrisome dreams Potter has in his head.

-----

The sky had cleared by the morning, and the sun was rising in the East. Harry ran, pounding his feet hard on the ground of the quidditch pitch. This was his fifth lap. He was getting warmed up for the game. Around him in the air, his team was flying and doing manuvers. They weren't very good, Harry had to say, not as good as the Slytherins. The snake house wanted revenge, they were out for blood. Harry knew right away that the Hufflepuffs had no chance against the Slytherins. It was all up to him to win for his team. He felt up to the challenge, his heart pounding, as he ran as fast as he could, sweat dripping from his eyebrows.

"Harry come here," said Jack, landing downward in front of Harry. Jack Morrison was the captain of the team, a muggle born seventh year who was excellent at what he did: seeker. "I want you to know, there's no need to feel nervous. I mean the Slytherins aren't so bad but you still have to watch out for them. They play unfair."

"I play unfair," Harry said with a grin, "I'm not worried at all. In fact, I'm actually excited."

Jack nodded and grinned back, "That's the spirit, Harry. Now get on your broom."

"Accio Potter Lightning!" Harry called, pointing to his broom which was on a Quidditch seat. It raced to him, and Harry jumped in mid air landing on the broom. He shot up as fast as a rocket at a brilliant speed, zooming between Haley and Alex, the two muggle born chasers. He was the third chaser.

He caught the quaffle which they were passing between them and dove to the keeper, shooting it in one of the hoops. The Keeper blocked it with ease. "You're going to have to do better than that, Potter," he said, laughing. Owen Cauldwell was fantastic as a Keeper, even better than Marcus Flint.

"Right," Harry said, zooming in the sky. He caught another quaffle, doubled back in a sharp U-turn, feinted like he was going to throw in the middle hoop, and instead shot downward in a Wronski feint. He then shot upward coming up right behind Owen and shot it in the left hoop. All this was done in three seconds.

Harry flew away, to the laughing cheers of the rest of the team.

"So this is the competition," Draco said, walking toward them from the ground, sneering. Harry landed in front of him. "Yes, Malfoy. Still nursing your bruises?"

Draco glared at him, "I just want to let you know, a personal message from Slytherin's captain." He handed Harry a folded parchment.

Harry opened it and read aloud, "Harry - for humiliating the Slytherins when you arrived at Hogwarts, we are going to give you and your Hufflepuff team the beating of a life time. Enjoy the pitch while you can."

Harry scoffed and said, "What are they going to do, run over me with brooms?"

Draco simply smirked and walked away. "What did he want," Jack said, "Anything important?"

Harry shook his head and looked at the sky. He thought he saw a flash of light from above but wasn't sure what it was. Then he saw a bird descend. His heart almost stopped as he recognized that figure. Renaud was here!

Renaud, the assassin, hired to kill Harry, was here in Hogwarts.

For the first time in two months, Harry felt scared.

----------

Quirrel remembered the first time he met Lord Voldemort in the cave in Albania. The night sky velveted overhead sparkling brilliant white dots. The stars shined overhead, and the air was cold frigid with steel smell from Russia coming in North. Communists with war machines-muggles all of them- were invading Albania and in the clash between two countries, one in which Wizards stay far away from, Voldemort hid from Dumbledore's order of the phoenix. The man in the grey cloak journeyed on the mountain, his staff hitting wet mud and half grown grass, white roses, little bushes on the hills. In the air an eagle swooped down in circles around Quirrel. He held out an arm, and his eagle perched, landing with a woosh of his wings.

Voldemort was around here somewhere, Quirrel had heard from ex-death eaters. Rumours, whispers in the wind from evil doers, bar goers and drunkard Knockturne Alley residents. Voldemort, the dark lord who had terrorized Britian with his repertoire of dark magic and ruthless ambition. An enigmatic figure hidden in the shadows, surrounded by fear clouds... this was something that first grabbed Quirrel, stirred his heart and soul.

"There is no good or evil," whispered the man in the dream. A bony figure of white skin and evil red eyes, looking deeply, looking hypnotically straight into Quirrel's soul. Incredible powers of legilimency opened up new worlds for Voldemort, his sword like intelligence piercing in every direction looking for the ones with weak hearts and troubled minds. Master of the universe, Voldemort floated in the astral worlds of mental desires, terrorizing everybody going to living the common life, yet suppressing his heart's desires, cries and lust for power. Quirrel fell victim to Voldemort's spider web, his field of darkness.

"Only power."

"And those too weak to seek it," answered Quirrel to the ghostly voice in the cave.

"Enter the darkness, my faithful servent," said the voice, beckoning Quirrel into the cave. A red crimson pair of eyes looked from the abyss of darkness and Quirrel looked back. Instantly a connection formed, and he felt as if a huge ocean of energy was sinking into him, like wine into a cup. He was filled with the raging energies of Lord Voldemort, a melodious music sounding in his ears, the thrum of dark magic filling the air with scents of rotting carcasses.

"Come to me, crawl to me, my little snake, a worm you are Quirrel. Worms betrayed me... Wormtail..."

"My lord, you lack strength, you seem sickly and weak. Let me help you."

"Give me your wand," said the Voice, and a thin wrinkled hand moved forward. It was the hand of a rotting corpse. "Don't be afraid of my form. A dead body is a much better host than a live animal, less fight to possess." Voldemort hissed a weak laugh, coughing. Yellow fluid sprang out of his sickly mouth and onto Quirrel's brown deer hide shoes.

"My lord, I live to serve," said Quirrel, handing over his wand to his master. "You want my left arm I presume?"

"Give me your soul," Voldemort said, pointing the wand at Quirrel's forearm. "Mosmorde!" A green light shot out, and cut into skin. Quirrel screamed, his eyes clenched shut in pain, and tears sprang out of his eyes. The green light formed a skull, from the skull slithered out a snake that hissed louder than Quirrel's screams. Rigid night air filled with screams, hollowing heart wrenching and soul destroying sounds crumpling away the last vestiges of innocence in Quirrel's mind.

Quirrel could think of nothing but the pain and after a while the pain receeded into small waves of tantalizing pulses that made him reel and shiver. His face was white and vomit dribbled down his lips. His eyes took on a sunken look, and the once vibrant glow that had flushed his face had forever dissapeared like the melting of a precious snowflake.

Voldemort glared deeply into Quirrel's eyes and pursued his newest follower's thoughts, dreams, heart's desires, and emotions, willing himself to see all he could to use Quirrel as best as able, manipulate him by invisible strings. Words were the way, the most powerful weapon he had available. "There is no good or evil..." whispered Voldemort as he stared down at his handiwork. The dark mark glowed a sickly green on Quirrel's left hand.

"Only power," whispered Quirrel, staring in fascination at the mark, "And those too weak to seek it."

"Thank me," Voldemort commanded.

"My lord, I am eternally grateful to be your faithful servent. Please accept my humble gratitude."

Voldemort sneered, and in a supercilious manner he waved his white wrinkled hand, beckoning him to begone. "Return tomorrow morning," he said in a wheezing voice, "For I am tired."

Quirrel bowed and said, "Thank you my lord. I seek only to serve and obey." He turned, left, his cloak billowing with the cold wind.

Voldemort smirked to himself as new hope filtered into what had once been hopeless, as new ambitions arose in a pool that had once been dead and rotting. He would return, he would survive, he would thrive! The next day he explained his thoughts and plans to Quirrel, and they plotted and waited.

Harry Potter was a key piece to their plan.

------------

Harry Potter woke up, scar bleeding, head hurting, and eyes feeling as if they had been pressed down by hot pokers. He almost screamed but held himself in check. "Come on Harry," said the team captain, "There's only an hour left for the game."

Harry got up and looked around the change rooms. "I was taking a nap," he said, "Didn't get much sleep last night."

Jack cast him a disapproving look. "Harry you know how much this game means to us," he said, "I told you to get a good night's sleep."

Harry shrugged, waving Jack's discontent away with a lazy hand as he stared hard at a spot on the wall. "Do you like dragons," he asked slowly.

"W-what?" Jack muttered, frowning in confusion.

"Dragons, do you like them?" Harry asked again. "I think I smell one."

"Harry, there aren't any dragons in Hogwarts," Jack said, "Now come on, let's go to the Hufflepuff common room. We're having a party."

"Before?"

"It's the hufflepuff tradition," explained Jack, "We always have a party one hour before the game. It's our way of celebrating, regardless if we win or lose."

Harry smiled, "I like that idea actually," he said.

Jack smirked in approval, "See, Hufflepuff is the right house for you after all." He looked around and whispered conspiratorially, "Between you and me, I'll let you in on a secret."

Harry leaned closer, two shining green eyes that seemed to leap out at Jack in an arrogant manner. Jack said quickly, "I found a charm we can use to speed up our brooms, and I checked with the regulations. It's legal."

"A charm? Which one?"

"I found it in one of the Hogwarts library books, an old archive of charms created by muggle borns throughout the ages. I bet you that the Slytherins will never have even heard of it."

Harry grinned, "Perfect," he said.

The walk to the common room occurred in silence, Harry lost in his own thoughts. He wondered why his scar was hurting him, he wondered why. The door to the common room opened, and the passageway that had tunnel like qualities was cold as a draft swept throughout the room. Hufflepuffs ate sweets and drank butterbeer, chattering amongst each other about the outcome of the game. Everyone was relaxing and having a good time. As they walked in, everyone started clapping and a huge cheer rang out throughout the crowd. Harry had never felt so... pleased with himself. It was a strange unique feeling he had never quite fully experienced.

He liked it, he liked mingling with his peers, he liked being normal for once. Today he wasn't Harry Potter, he was a chaser. He wasn't the boy-who-lived, he was simply a normal child. He laughed at their jokes and told some of his own that he had heard from Mr. White. He played a game of chess (he lost for some reason he couldn't fathom) against a seventh year and he bet a sack of sickles that he would score a hundred points. He drank some butterbeer, revelling in the warm luxerious butter taste as the liquid slid down his throat, sweet, tangy and thick. He had his share of cakes, pastries, pies. But the most fun thing he liked about the party was the warm acceptance that rang throughout the crowd. Perhaps Dumbledore had been right, perhaps Hufflepuff was the right house for him after all. Everyone was friendly here, untouched by war and dark magic, innocent and pure.

A chiming bell rang out from the clock above the fireplace, signalling it was time for everyone to head out to the Quidditch pitch.

Harry's heart sped up in nervousness, anticipation. Heat flowed from his belly. He was anxious and slightly unnerved. He had killed people in cold blood as a child and he never felt this way. Why was he nervous over a Quidditch game? There are going to be people watching me, he thought, and that's making me anxious, because I have a public image to keep up. Yet this answer didn't satisfy him, and deep inside he knew the real reason. He actually wanted to win. He wanted the Hufflepuffs to like him, to be friends with him, to love him and adore him. He was nervous out of pure egoism.

And as this answer rose to the forefront of his mind, it revealed a new facet in his existence that he never suspected was present. He was just like everyone else at that moment, and for all his prodigial ability, his uniqueness and his so called greatness, at that moment he was just an average joe hungering for approval.

He didn't like this feeling, yet he went out with determination and a grim smile, willing to win with all his heart.

-------

Cold November air blew his hair as Harry walked to the pitch, broom in hand, following his team mates.

They went to the middle of the pitch and shook hands with the Slytherins.


	16. Chapter 16: The Dragon

AN: I know I haven't updated for a while. Life has kept me busy. I am going to try to write half an hour every day and basically post a chapter once a week, but we will see what happens I guess. I know I have contradicted myself sometimes, but that's okay, because my memory is not all that great right now and if it bothers you too much, you don't have to read it. To read my story is your choice, and as such I have no responsibility over your decision. If you enjoy this story, okay, good, if not, well there's nothing I can do about it except complete my story and learn from this endeavor as best as I can. I didn't wait for a week of collecting writing to post it because I wanted to update for you guys and let you know I am still here, still continuing and sticking to the schedule outlined in the first chapter.

By the end of Chapter Nineteen Harry's first year will be over. Chapter twenty will detail his summer vacation.

Chapter Sixteen: Flying without a broom

They shook hands with the team that had dominated Hogwarts for ten years, that had bullied their way up the power system. The head of the procession of snakes in Hogwarts was Severus Snape, the potions master who had no qualms about taking house points away from those who did not deserve it, or handing out detentions left and right without any reservation.

Harry wondered why Albus did not step in to control the ill behaved professor and after a few seconds of thought while he watched the team captain of the Hufflepuffs shake hands with Slytherin's team captain Marcus Flint, he decided it was because they had a hidden relationship.

One that had a lot more to do with Voldemort than what was seen initially. Harry had been researching the newspapers over the past week and he had found records of several death eater trials where Severus's name had popped up at one time or the other. Harry knew there was a good possibility that Snape was a death eater, and one of Voldemort's servants who could be a spy. But the question he did not have an answer to was who did Snape spy for, Albus Dumbledore or Lord Voldemort?

Harry was sure that neither knew that answer for certain.

The air was a bit frigid and cold, and what Harry had said to Jack was fundamentally true, there was a scent of dragons in the air. Harry could smell it. Ever since he had done the dark rituals found in several tomes banned by over twenty different wizarding countries, he could sense the creatures approaching like they were a part of him. He could feel their aggression and anger, and at the same time, he could also feel the pride of the dragon, a lone dragon approaching Hogwarts, but under some sort of thrall that was clouding its judgment.

Harry felt a drop of sweat run down his back. Could it be that assassin Renaud who had tried to kill Harry? Could it be Malfoy wanting revenge? He knew the attack - and there was going to be one, that was certain in Harry's mind - would be directed primarily at him, and secondarily at Albus Dumbledore or the students. Albus made himself a fine target. Harry could attest to that.

Once he had wanted to kill the old man, the wizard who held Britain in his grip with a gentle touch and a twinkling blue eyed smile.

But when Harry came face to face with what the world considered to be the greatest wizard ever born since Merlin himself, he found his hands shaking, his teeth chattering.

There was power hidden in Albus's blue eyes, a power that Harry had no inkling of, that did not have any taint of darkness and yet it was not weak due to the lack of it. Rather, the power was strong, far stronger than any Harry had ever come across in another wizard.

Perhaps if he met Voldemort one day, he would have someone to compare Dumbledore with but until then Harry knew that assassinating Albus Dumbledore would only get him in major trouble.

He would bide his time, learn, observe and stay silent and aloof. He would be as invisible as he could, just watching and waiting, learning the ins and outs of Hogwarts. If he were to fight the man on his own ground, he would lose, but if that ground was a common region known equally well to the both of them, then Harry would have a good chance of laying some traps to capture Dumbledore.

And then what, Harry asked himself as the quidditch game began. He leapt on his new broom, and raced to the sky, eager to get a bird's eye view of the lake, to see the approaching dragon and do something about it.

The quidditch game progressed rapidly, and although Harry was playing seeker, he did not search for the snitch. Rather he focused on the crowd and their cheering and happy exuberant smiles. They liked him, Harry realized, and he liked himself very well at that moment. Usually he was dull and dead inside, emotionally blunted by the dark rituals he had performed in his prodigious youth, but now at these moments he was finally regaining what he had never sought, a childish need for approval and attention.

He basked in it as he leapt downward into a spiraling corkscrew, intent on making the opposing seeker follow him. And then just as he was about to reach the opposition's three nets, he held his arm out as if he were going to grab the snitch. As expected, the slytherin beaters swung at Harry with their bats, aiming for his head.

Harry ducked under their swings, and whipped downward into a sudden dive before stopping and turning upside down to see the show.

The opponent seeker rolled right into the two beaters's swings, and smashed his head against both bats. He fell like a rock to the sandy pitch below, and Harry watched... almost fascinated by the roaring of the crowd, by the cheering delight of his team mates and by the intense hot anger of the Slytherins.

Madam Hooch called time out, and the pitch was filled with a rumbling sound of thousands of intermingling voices, talking about Harry's move, and two red haired twins took it upon themselves to naming it the Potter Concussion Move.

Marcus Flint stalked toward Harry menacingly as Harry lightly landed on the ground. "What the hell was that Potter, you think you're going to get away with your dirty trick?"

Harry rolled his eyes, suddenly aware of an acute silence that penetrated the entirety of the arena as quidditch fans (and teachers) strained their ears to overhear.

"Not my fault your beaters have bad aim, eh Marcus?" Harry said with a weak smile, "Maybe they should practice a bit before playing in a real game."

It was a deliberate insult to an event that occurred ten days ago when Slytherins bullied the hufflepuff team into abandoning their practice time so the Slytherins could get more practice in before the big game, with a flimsy note from Professor Snape serving as their excuse and protection. The Hufflepuffs had to reschedule to four in the morning, and while Harry didn't mind (he barely slept) the rest of the team did.

Marcus was about to reply, but then the dragon struck, towering over the sky like a giant black cloud. It's sharp silver eyes were directly locked onto Harry's sight, and it swooped downward toward him.

Harry didn't move, he could only stand there in shock at the gigantic size of the deadly creature.

But Albus was not as inhibited and showed his true power in a single spell that Harry would never forget for the rest of his life.


	17. Chapter 17: Battle Joined

Chapter Seventeen: Battle Joined

Harry watched the dragon approach with trepidation. He knew he had to do something. Relying on his years of training, he rolled into a crouch and evaded the jet of fire the dragon sent at him, and raised his wand while doing so, shouting out the first spell that came to mind. "Expelliarmus!"

His force of the spell sent the dragon catering into the stands, but he felt exhausted after performing the spell. He had put everything into the spell and now, gasping, drained of energy, he could barely stand on his rubbery feet. He looked toward Albus Dumbledore, who gracefully rose to his feet from the stands.

Dumbledore did not even break a sweat as he raised his wand and twirled it in a circular motion, sending a ring of fire toward the dragon. The dragon dodged the fire, and moved back in toward Harry.

Harry knew he wouldn't be able to dodge this next jet of fire. His clothes were already singed and he had burns on his arms. He tried to move out of the way, but couldn't and could only watch helplessly as the dragon came at him, eyes glowing with hate and teeth jagged, mouth an opening of a volcano.

He tried to move but he just couldn't, he was frozen still in both fear and weakness. He had never faced a dragon before, a wizard yes he could handle but a full grown dragon with a bloodlust just for him? How could anyone handle that?

He looked at Dumbledore but what he saw shocked him, the old man was just watching him, watching what Harry would do in this situation. Did Dumbledore want Harry dead? Harry felt a stirring of anger fill his gut and at that moment he would have avada kedavra'd Dumbledore if a dragon wasn't in the way.

Instead as the jet of fire came, he raised his wand and cast, "Protego!" while curling into a small ball. A jet of blue flame hit his shield and for a moment his shield seemed to hold out against dragon fire. Then the shield shuddered and broke apart, and some of the flame leapt out to lick Harry's body with scalding burns. Harry screamed in pain, and cast an anguished look at the stunned witches and wizards who simply watched this affair like it was a quidditch game.

Well they wanted a show didn't they? He had Merlin's Wand with him in his back pocket and he knew he could probably save his life if he used it. But if he did use it everyone would know he had such a powerful artefact and it might get taken away from him.

The dragon moved in an upward spiral and then leapt down like a hawk hunting a mouse. Harry panicked and decided his life was worth more than a measly wand. He raised Merlin's Wand in the air, the crystal glow of it reflected the sun. He felt a shiver run down his spine and on his skull as he felt the power of Merlin's magic infuse his very being, all his cells in his body became saturated with power. He felt light headed almost like he was floating in the air, weightless and totally strengthened and rejuvinated.

He cast another wry glance at Dumbledore and saw that the old man had a raised eyebrow of surprise on his face, and a gleam of recognition in twinkling blue eyes.

So Dumbledore wanted to see what he could do with the wand, well he would show him. He would cast some spells, evade the dragon and get out of here. Hogwarts was too dangerous a place for him, too much work to keep a student disguise and to mask his true power, his true ambitions. What had he wanted from this god forsaken castle anyways? Some friends? A power base?

To kill Albus?

Well he still wanted that but he decided he would have to find a better way to do it, being here in Hogwarts made him a target as the dragon so dangerously proved.

He jabbed the wand in the air toward the dragon and called out a hissing spell, "Ageoso!" The spell launched a stream of liquid silver, sizzling hot, toward the dragon in an arc.

The dragon evaded the stream of silver, and shot his fire at it, melting it into a thick smoke that made many people in the stands start to cough and puke.

Good they aren't watching me, he thought, less chance of them recognizing this artefact. Though Dumbledore already knows.

He cast another glance at Dumbledore while running toward the center of the quidditch pitch where he had left his broom. Dumbledore had cast the bubble head charm and was drawing runes in the air with his wand. Harry wondered what spell Dumbledore would attempt and decided, he didn't want to be here to find out.

Obviously Renaud the Assassin was still after him. He didn't even know who Renaud worked for and how he had gotten control of a dragon. But Renaud was a formidable opponent, one Harry would have to fight with all his skill so he couldn't be distracted by the doings of the Hogwarts population, Dumbledore included.

Harry used Merlin's Wand to send spell after spell in an effortless show of power as he raced to the broom. The dragon was temporarily distracted by the sheer number of spells Harry sent toward the creature, and so allowed Harry to get on his broom. He raised the broom toward the air, pointing it at the sky and flew into the blue velvet, into the clouds, far above until Hogwarts was only a speck on the ground.

He turned to look at the castle he was leaving behind and saw only a dragon following him. Perhaps he could lead the dragon toward the students, then Dumbledore would be forced to deal with the creature.

He raced back in a long jagged arc and came at full speed on his broom toward the Gryffindor house. That was Dumbledore's old house. He smirked at his cunning, and decided the hat was right in sorting him to Slytherin. Dumbledore would feel an obligation to protect his former house students and thus Harry would be left alone to continue on his way, perhaps travel the world.

Already he was thinking of his future travel plans while a gigantic dragon followed him dogged on his heels, thinking only to kill him! He had to grin at his audacity.

Merlin's Wand was making him arrogant and full of himself he decided. He had never drew on the power so fully as right now, so much so that he felt loaded with power and had to turn toward the dragon to let some of it out in the form of a spell.

"Avada Kedavra!" He cast, channelling his hatred for Dumbledore into the spell. The green killing curse went straight for the Dragon.

At the same time Dumbledore struck, casting his own spell. A blue mist filled the stadium and suddenly the dragon was surrounded by a pale golden light just as Harry's killing curse fired toward the dragon.

The killing curse reflected off the dragon's shield and hit Harry straight in the chest. Everything went black. He let go of Merlin's Wand while falling, and suddenly felt empty and bereft of all his power. He felt like he was going to die, and his heart stopped beating for a few seconds as a sheer ache filled his chest, drifting to his scar.

He fell to the ground with a thud and heard only screaming. Opening his eyes he saw the dragon charge down at him with blinding speed, claws sheared toward Harry's body ready to rip him apart.

He just looked on at the danger, and knew he was spent, knew he would die. He couldn't even remember any spell to perform even though he had his original wand in his left hand. He tried to recall his animagus transformation but the killing curse must have addled his brains or something.

So he closed his eyes and tried to feel as if everything was alright. Death is only a long sleep, he told himself as the dragon struck his body.

It was pain beyond pain, such a dull pain and at the same time a sharp pain. It did not even compare to his killing curse as he felt the dragon's claws sinking into his gut, as he felt more than saw the wave of fire the dragon sent toward his face.

Burning face, burning flesh, burning hair. He screamed and knew no more, knew that he had to survive, had to live, the prophecy demanded it.

He was suddenly enfused with a glowing energy, a leathery feeling of vitality and power that was both the same and different from Merlin's Wand. Where was he drawing this power from? He realized it instantly, because it seemed that by sucking on Voldemort's strength from his scar he was also leeching on the Dark Lord's intelligence and talents.

He started to whisper fiercely in parseltongue, whispering and barely knowing what he was saying except it had to do with an exotic ritualistic spell he had read about in Slytherin's diaries fifty years ago, or perhaps Tom Riddle had.

He couldn't tell. Then he stopped the whispering and the flame dissapeared. He opened his eyes to see the dragon fall back and then drop dead on the ground, a thousand wounds across the dragon's body. They looked like slashes made by swords.

Harry rose to his feet, and when the danger had passed - or when he felt it so perhaps - the energy dissapered and he once again felt weak, hurt, wounded. He couldn't leave Hogwarts in this condition. His face was burnt and he had a hole - or perhaps a dozen claw holes and claw slashes - in his body.

He had to go the hospital wing. Through singed eyelids he looked at the world around him and marvelled at the fact that he could still see. The audience, once so vividly watching him battle a dragon, were lying on the ground, or puking their guts or coughing up blood. That silvery smoke must have really damaged their lungs. It was a good thing he hadn't breathed any of it. Dumbledore was helping everyone around him, casting healing spells. When Harry looked at the old man, the old man caught his eye and he was instantly transported in his mind where he felt Dumbledore digging around, trying to discern the source of Harry's knowledge.

Harry tried to push him out but they held eye contact and Dumbledore was a far better, far more superior legilimens than Harry. Memories flashed before Harry's eyes, of Mr. White training him to be an assassin, him learning potions and spells and spending torturous seconds under the cruciatus curse when he was too slow, too weak to learn to Mr. White's satisfaction. He felt his memories bleed out of him to the forefronts of his mind, for the plucking by Dumbledore... and someone else.

He caught sight of Snape from the peripheral, helping Dumbledore gain access to his mind. They were both looking at him, Snape opening his mental walls while Dumbledore peered through, roughly taking in information with no delicacy, no softness, only a cold efficiency that made Harry feel violated.

He wanted to fight back but he couldn't, he didn't know how and he was too weak to do so anyways. All the fighting and the magic had drained Harry of his energy and the wounds on his body made it hard for him to stay awake. Yet Dumbledore and Snape were forcing him to stay awake, forcing him to reveal each and every mission he had ever done under Mr. White's command, ending with the order to...

To kill Albus Dumbledore.

Albus's eyes widened, and the connection wavered. Harry struck back, enraged and angry beyond all belief and hit the two legilimens with all the force of a hammer. They reeled at the blow but held on to the connection, holding his mind open to be read like a book.

He tried to hit them again mentally but found that he couldn't. He was trapped in box, a metal box, and he was shrouded in darkness. The box was closing in on him and he couldn't breathe.

It dissapeared when he felt danger arising out of him again, danger and the fear that he was going to die, just like with the dragon.

He drew energy from the scar once again, and started to whisper in parseltongue, whispering furiously and fast. He felt his burns heal, and his body heal itself from the grevious wounds. But his mind was still open. They were watching him, watching him draw strength from Voldemort.

They were watching him like a cat watches a mouse. He wanted to hurt them, but the energy dissapeared, the connection with the scar was broken -- by force. Dumbledore did it, just after Harry healed himself and was about to strike back... seconds seemed to be hours and in a few minutes Dumbledore and Snape had seen everything, all his secrets, even Merlin's Wand. He knew he would have to kill them both, and soon, if he wanted to maintain his privacy and whatever tricks he had up his sleeve, if he wanted to live.

There was a war coming, he knew that, he knew Voldemort was not yet gone. But he had weakened Voldemort by drawing on his strength.

And he was sure the blow he had dealt to Snape and Dumbledore would hurt like a nasty hangover. But it wasn't enough! He wanted rip them apart, cast the crucio on them and watch them scream beneath his feet.

But he couldn't, he could only be still and watch in agony as they rifled through his mind like kids in a candy store, watching each and every memory that pertained to Harry's childhood with a painful intensity.

He wanted to scream, but he was denied that release as well, held into a box and trapped like prey.

His time would come he knew, he would only have to bide his time until he could strike back...

Until he could return to his original mission... to kill Albus Dumbledore.


	18. Chapter 18

AN: Hey guys, just letting you know I haven't stopped writing on this story. I want to branch out of the traditional Harry Potter fan fiction and go my own way, make my own story from the foundations of JK Rowling's work. So I am going to be introducing new concepts, new characters, slowly, very slowly. This chapter is just a taste I think, a trial and if it works I will continue in the same stream and if it doesn't, jump out and try something else I guess. Anyways let me know how you feel about it, your thoughts and opinions do matter I believe. It really has an impact on the direction of the story.

Chapter Eighteen: Doctors and Lawyers

Doctor Richard Zumdahl was a muggle born coming from a nice family of five brothers, two sisters and hard working parents. His father was a salesman, selling cars in his cousin's autoshop, and his mother was an English teacher.

He had worked hard to get to where he was, to get a medical degree from a muggle university which wizards and witches disdained terribly. And then he spent an additional three years learning magical ways of healing, and he was impressed.

He seemed to be a bit down today as he walked down Diagon Alley's cobbled street, looking at the shops that surrounded the alley like a growing forest.

He wanted to buy some potions equipment and perhaps test out a new wand. His old one was fizzling and didn't seem to work as good as it used to. Perhaps it was the studying in the muggle university and medical school that had costed him his wand. He didn't use much magic anymore, at least until he started his training in magical healing. And then too, his wand was a pain, but he couldn't afford to get a new one.

Now however, with him getting a cushy job at St. Mungoes treating such exotic wounds like apparration accidents, that his muggle colleagues had never even heard of, or diseases that only affected magically talented humans, he had some money. Not a lot, but enough to get by, enough to continue his research in potions... or rather potions with a certain dark arts connotations.

"Hey there, you got change?" asked a homeless man with a pleading look in his eye. When Dr. Zumdahl looked at him, he saw a bearded man, with gaunt looking clothes and a skinny malnourished body. He inwardly wondered at how a magical person could possibly go impoverished, but with an upward roll of his eye expressing his annoyance, he dug out a silver sickle and tossed it to the man.

"Thanks," the man said beaming. "My name's Arnie, I used to work for the Purple Knightbus, you know."

"What happened, did you get fired?" asked Zumdahl as he continued to walk down toward Potions Exotica, a store that was sadly fifteen minutes a walk from his apartment in Knockturn Alley.

Arnie continued to follow him, flipping the silver sickle between his fingers like a magician. "I did a good job, driving that is, not that you need to do much work. No it was Harry Potter that got me fired."

"The boy who survived the killing curse?" Zumdahl stopped walking, and turned to face Arnie, "I had heard about it, a curious event that has puzzled experts for a while, healers don't know how to replicate it, nor do they have an idea to go about how to do so." He sighed.

"I'm a healer myself you know," he said and then examining Arnie up and down, he added, "I can take care of those burns on your hands. What happened?"

"It was a dragon," Arnie said, "Dragon fire, the worst thing in the world, when it gets to you, burns out a person's magic, it does."

"That's a rare side effect, happens to only one percent of those inflicted with burn injuries," Zumdahl said, "You are a rare one then."

"Yes, rare, I'm sure," Arnie sighed, "That damn Potter summoned the dragon I think."

"Where was this?"

"You haven't heard the news, then?"

"I've been out of the country for a while, in South Africa, earning my medical degree among the muggles."

"Hmphf, a waste of time dealing with muggles if you ask me," Arnie said as the pair continued to walk toward Potions Exotica, Arnie following the doctor.

"Not a waste of time at all," Zumdahl said, "Their ways can be of immense help to the magical community, especially in research. Did you know they use rats and mice to experiment on, using chemicals and drugs for healing rather than spells and potions."

"I prefer amulets myself," Arnie admitted, "At least I used to, now nothing works. I have burns all over my body, and can't even cast a lumos charm, much less handle the Knightbus."

"That's too bad, you need to apply some wolfbark cream on your burns, but as far as your magic goes, nothing will help save for maybe pheonix tears," Dr. Zumdahl said, "And you know how rare that stuff is."

"That's what the healer at Hogwarts told me. That's where Potter summoned the dragon you know, I saw him, raising this crystal white stick in the air and whispering. He's a parseltongue you know. Heard it from a good person who doesn't never lie."

"A parseltongue, why to think of all that I've missed," Zumdahl said, "Well anyways I have to get going, you can buy the wolfbark cream from Potions Exotica. That's where I need to go."

"What are you buying then, you're a healer right, you don't need potions supplies, do you? Doesn't St. Mungo's provide it for you?"

"They do but I am undertaking a particularly complex research project," Zumdahl said, stopping in front of Arnie, "Show me your hands."

Arnie opened his hands palm upward, and Zumdahl stared at it for a few seconds, before taking out the wand that didn't quite work for him. He decided he would cast a cooling charm for the pain, and then a healing amplifier for the burns though he doubted it would do much.

Dragon burns were notoriously hard to heal. Zumdhal did his best with his wand, and the poor man looked much happier, and healthier, when he was done. Then he went to the potions shop and bought a few flasks of blue liquid, as well as an eye of newt that he would make a sleeping potion out of.

He had been having some strange dreams lately, and perhaps it was a bit of his divination skills. His great grandfather was a pretty darn good divination wizard, and he probably inherited some of it even though his parents were muggles.

He was walking out of the potions shop when he noticed Ollivander's wand shop explode in a fiery orange ball of debris and fire. He ducked.

People were screaming to escape the explosion.

Two men dragged an older man out the door. They wore white masks and black cloacks

Death eaters, Zumdhal thought with fear tightening his chest. I won't leave this place alive, they will kill me.

But they didn't kill him.

"Avada Kedavra!" said one death eater.

A jet of green light hit Ollivander in the chest and he flew backward with a last cry of utter pain.

Zumdhal shuddered even though he was a tiny bit curious despite himself. It shamed him. But he had never seen a killing curse before.

The feeling, the terror, it was pure evil.

The green light filled his vision, destroyed everything good inside him. He felt hopeless and agonized, as if he were near a dementor.

But some how just watching the harmless wand seller die was even worse. He wished he could do something about it but he was just too scared.


	19. Chapter 19

AN: Time skip! Harry Potter has been brainwashed using several potions and charms, and he has been switched into Gryffindor house. Will he ever regain his memories?

------ Day One of the Second War -----

Harry woke up with groggy eyes. He looked around his dormitory but nobody was there. Alone, he could be himself, he could relax. He sighed and thought about yesterday's events. He had just met Voldemort, the revived dark lord, and had some how managed to escape through sheer dumb luck. He was glad he escaped, but with Cedric's death looming over his shoulders like a heavy burden, he felt empty.

He wanted to scream at the world, wanted to wake them up from their lazy stupor but that wasn't going to happen, not until Voldemort showed himself. Everyone would think he was lying. Dumbledore had told him what to expect.

"We must strive onward, even in the face of ridicule, Harry," Dumbledore said. They were having tea in his office to calm him down after his encounter with Voldemort and the fake death eater, Professor Moody, a disguise for the villainous Bertemius Crouch Jr.

The tea was too hot and the office was too cold. Dumbledore got a serious look in his eye as he looked at Harry up and down. It made him uncomfortable, being under the scrutinity of perhaps the greatest wizard in the wizarding world save for Voldemort. But his fight with the Dark Lord had given him some nerve and he asked the question, the same one he had asked Dumbledore back in first year.

"Why is he after me?" He asked in a soft voice, "Why did he choose to kill me – or try to anways – when I was a baby?" He didn't expect an answer. He kept his eyes on Fawkes, on the brilliant red and gold phoenix who looked at Harry with big black eyes. The phoenix hopped on the desk, scattering sheaths of parchment on the floor. It hopped onto Harry's shoulder in a big leap, and then started to sing in his ears.

It made Harry feel calm. His back hurt, his eyes hurt, his arms hurt. But the pain faded away and he felt peaceful, as if he could lie down and go to sleep. But at the same time he felt more alert than ever, and he brought his eyes to Dumbledore, and blue eyes met green eyes, looking at each other like best friends – and worst enemies.

"What are you hiding, sir?" Harry hissed in a moment of insight. He felt angry, outraged in fact because he knew – by Dumbledore's silence and by the new sensations phoenix song brought to him that there was something he should know about concerning him.

"I am hiding something," Dumbledore admitted, taking out his wand. Harry tensed. Then relaxed. It was Dumbledore. He would not hurt him. Harry trusted the old man. Dumbledore waved his wand, and a cupboard door flew open, revealing a silver bowl with a golden greenish trim. The bowl was really big. It had silver liquid floating in it that was as bright as the sun.

"This, Harry, is a pensieve." Dumbledore said in response to his unspoken question. Harry looked at it in awe. He felt the power surrounding this obviously rare artifact. There were runes that Harry could see on the sides of the bowl as it levitated closer toward him. Fawkes crooned sadly and flew to his perch. Harry barely noticed. The bowl landed with a thud on the wooden desk. A machine that looked like a clock with the planets for numbers tipped over and fell with a shattering sound of glass breaking. Dumbledore merely flicked his wand and the machine righted itself, floated back up on the desk.

"Come and let us journey into the realms of memory, Harry," Dumbledore said, "For in a pensieve, memories are as real as you and I, sitting here on this dark eve." Dumbledore looked a bit strange to Harry, a little bit out of touch with reality. He looked like Luna Lovegood.

Harry thought that perhaps Dumbledore was just getting old, but that was not quite the case. There was a sharpness in his twinkly blue eyes that bespoke of great intelligence, far surpassing Harry in its cunning. Here sat a leader, one Harry was willing to follow.

"What-" Harry swallowed, "A memory sir? One of your memories?" He asked. He wondered why Dumbledore was showing him this. Was it about Lord Voldemort? Harry shuddered. Would he be expected to… to fight him? Wasn't he responsible for the Dark Lord's rebirth?

"Yes, it is a memory, of a prophecy," Dumbledore said, his voice echoing in the room. His eyes were misty, and he looked slightly lost as if he were gazing far away at something that only he could see. Dumbledore nudged his wand into the liquid, and lifted it slowly. A silvery cloud of vapour rose up from the bowl, and began to fill the entire room.

Harry's vision turned pure silver, and then suddenly he found himself in a room, a coffee shop perhaps, a private room where Professor Dumbledore – in a navy blue twinkling moon outfit – was talking to Professor Trelawnway. Then the divination professor's eyes turned back so no pupils showed, only the whites of the eyes and in a hoarse whisper she began to speak, like a possessed person.

"The one with the power to save us all, born as the seventh month dies, born to defeat the dark lord for only one can survive and either must die at the hands of the other. He shall have the power the dark lord knows not, the power to save us all, born to parents thrice defying the Dark Lord, marked equal, born as the seventh month dies."

Harry began to sweat. His mind started to rave and race like a mad man. He thought to himself, that's me, I'm the one in the prophecy… and then the shocking revelation made him fall on the hard wood floor of the coffee shop. Dumbledore – the Dumbledore from the office – put a hand on Harry's shoulder and helped him to his feet, shaking his head slightly. "Let us begone from this memory dream," he said, his words shaking with hidden power – and sorrow.

The scene began to fade, and once again Harry felt drowned in silver. Then when he opened his eyes, Fawkes came at him gently, and sang. Harry felt happy, glad, but there was an empty hollow feeling raging in his heart as he took in the contents of the prophecy.

"How do we know it's real?" Harry asked, "Trelawnway is a fraud."

"Professor Trelawnway, Harry," Dumbledore said gently. Harry looked up at the Professor, slightly startled out of his train of thoughts by the correction. Feeling slightly brave – as if nothing could scare him after the encounter he had with Lord Voldemort – he petted Fawkes on the neck.

"She's not much of a Professor," Harry commented as if chatting about the weather, "In fact, I don't think much of her skills with divination."

"You might be right," Dumbledore said, "But in this case, the prophecy was genuinely made. I have investigated it quite thoroughly, both the prophet as well as the prophecy and I assure you in the fact that I left nothing out. Not a single detail."

Harry caught on fast and said, "Voldemort found out about the prophecy, didn't he?"

"Somebody was listening in at the door, a death eater follower of his who does not follow him any longer." Dumbledore said vaguely.

Harry didn't know what to say after that, and the two spent the next hour in a stony silence, sipping tea. Each lost in their thoughts yet none of them willing to relinquish the presence of the other. Somehow they were comforted by each other in a master and apprentice relationship, each needing the other's support.

Finally Dumbledore rose with a sigh and a crack of his hip. He chuckled softly to himself, and bade Harry good night, "Get some sleep, for tomorrow will be a difficult day for you."

Harry did just that.

And now here he was, awake after the worst day and night of his life. He had tossed and turned, and had not gotten much sleep, lost in thoughts, dreams, and plans.

He felt responsible, even though he knew he was not. But it was his blood that resurrected Voldemort, and so Harry felt that he should step up to his task, and start taking his place as the one indicated by the prophecy.

"The power that will save us all," he whispered to himself.

It was a few days before summer vacation arrived, and exams were highly tense things even though Harry did not have to take them. He felt the stress of the other students, especially their burning curiousity about what had happened in the graveyard.

But he did not talk to anyone. He wanted to be alone, wanted to repent, to say something to the universe about Cedric Diggory.

After all, it was his fault Cedric was dead. His chivalry was to blame, and his sense of fair play.

He should not have been so generous. He should have taken the cup and declared himself the champion. After all, was he not the champion?

"Harry, let's have a game of chess, then?" asked Percy Weasley one night while Harry had just finished flying on his fire bolt for a good hour. He was sweaty and he felt surprisingly fresh after the fly, but still, thoughts – murderous thoughts – plagued him.

He couldn't admit to himself that he was capable of murder, but he knew deep in his heart that he would do everything he possibly could to defeat Voldemort, get justice for Cedric, for his parents.

Harry nodded, and smiled slightly because he had refused everyone else's attention, and yet he felt like he needed to speak to someone because at the moment he was a bit lonely, thinking about Cedric Diggory and the murder.

"Alright, a game it is," Harry said. "Perhaps we should go to the library?"

"Splendid idea," Percy said, "Well, come on then. I have the chess set right under my arm in my book bag." Written on Percy's black book bag were the white letters: Property of the Ministry of Magic.

Harry followed along, and Percy chatted about his years at Hogwarts, being a prefect, getting good grades, and eventually taking a job at the ministry under Mr. Crouch. "It's a cushy job, and there's lots of room for advancement." Percy said. Then as they were approaching the library, he turned to Harry and asked him in a serious tone, "What happened to Mr. Diggory?"

Harry was totally taken aback with the suddenness – as well as the shock – of the line of questioning.

Percy perhaps took it as a sign of guilt. "You can tell me, Harry. I shan't breathe a word of it to anyone else. Your secret is safe with me."

"Voldemort killed him," Harry blurted out.

Percy shook his head sadly and then plastered a smile on his face that Harry could see through right away. "Come on then, let's have a chess game."

"No thanks," Harry said quickly, "I err, just remembered I have to do something. An assignment for Professor Snape, he asked me to write an essay, and I can't miss it or else he'll give me detention."

"Oh," said Percy. He said something else, but Harry didn't hear. He quickly turned away and walked back to Gryffindor tower, feeling slightly angry at Percy's audacity.

Hermione Granger greeted him from the common room, but did not say much else. She knew he needed some space, and she was willing to give it to him. She also had badgered Ron to do the same. Harry knew, and he was grateful to his friends for it. They would help him when he wanted their help, and listen when he wanted to talk.

They were good friends, Harry thought with an inward sigh and a calculating cunning.

Good friends should not have to suffer, he said to himself, and decided he did not need friends anymore, not as long as Voldemort was out there; free to target him – and those around him.

He really did have an essay to do, and he decided to do it right away even though it was due next year on the first day back. After putting his firebolt under his bed, he opened his trunk, got out his potions text book and went to the desks by the window in his dorm to study.

He wanted to get it over with and hopefully let the assignment distract him from thinking about the recent events that had transpassed. He flipped open his potions textbook to monkwood's properties, and began to take notes. His essay – assigned personally as each student got a different one – was on how to use monkwood and nightwail as the main ingredients in order to synthesize a potion for disguising your scent. Harry thought letting a three to one proportion of monkwood to nightwail would create a banana smelling tincture, which when drunk would cause the sweat glands to release a fruity banana scent. But he wasn't quite sure of the temperature he had to use or the amount of stirring – clockwise or counterclockwise? The book did not say and so he had to go right to the front, on the theory behind the stirring. This was definatley a hard essay. He wondered if he should get Hermione's help but decided against it. He did not want to talk to anyone, he just wanted to be alone and get himself together, learn how to process what had happened to him.

He still had the scar that Peter Pettigrew had given him with the knife. His blood had revived the greatest dark wizard in history. He felt guilty, and terribly afraid, but he tried to slow down his breathing, relax and concentrate on potions. He did not want fear to control him.

It was boring. But the task helped Harry clear his mind, and after a few hours of scribbling notes on parchment, he felt drowsy, so he decided to go to sleep. Looking outside, he sighed at the dark night. It was a perfect moment, with him getting a head start on his homework and after that ride in the sky all alone on his firebolt. Or at least it would have been if Voldemort was not out there, waiting, gathering his strength and his forces.

What could he do about it though, Harry thought to himself. He was just a school boy, he might try to learn a bit more and apply himself further in learning new and interesting spells. He had learnt the patronus just last year, and he had learnt the accio charm this year. Well, what if he tried learning some more powerful spells? For that he needed a teacher, someone who knew how to do powerful spells – who knew how to duel. The idea hit him instantly, Sirius Black, his godfather, would be more than happy to teach him considering the circumstances.

He grinned to himself and decided, come tomorrow morning – which was also the last day at Hogwars, he would pen a note to Sirius and have Hedwig fly there. He did not want his owl to suffer at the Dursleys.

As he drifted off to sleep, he wondered if he might try – just once – living a summer without the Dursleys. Perhaps go to the Leaky Cauldron and spend a few weeks there, eating ice cream, enjoying the sun. But he knew – with a sinking heart – that he could not just play around, because it was dangerous. Death eaters were after him, and the minimal protection that the Dursley household offered was something he sorely needed. So he resigned himself to another long summer with the Dursleys, or at least a month of it, and perhaps a month at the Black House, where Sirius currently resided.

He dreamt of a phoenix.

-------

Harry penned his letter to Sirius, explaining what had happened recently as well as his hopes that they would spend some time together. Harry really wanted to learn a few new spells that could be useful in duels and such, because with the prophecy weighing heavily on his mind he knew some day he would have to fight Voldemort, and for that he better well be prepared.

The rest of the day he spent with his friends, his only friends perhaps, Ron and Hermione. The rest of the students seemed very bright and volatile to Harry, like ticking bombs. It was only a matter of time before they leaned the truth, before they believed what Harry had said. Ron and Hermione believed him and asked him for details. He told them everything except the prophecy. They spent the day on the banks of the lake, sitting on a conjured bedsheet with a picnic basket, laughing, talking, making jokes and having fun. The summer would be a great torture for Harry. He tried to soak up as much joy as he possibly could on the last day.

The feast was memorable, the colours of which house had won was not there. In its place there was black, and more black, signifying the loss of Hogwart's champion, Cedric Diggory. Dumbledore even made a speech about it, and about Voldemort's return. Harry did not listen to it very well. He felt a buzzing sensation in his ear. It passed a few minutes later, but he thought that hearing Dumbledore speak Voldemort's name had brought it on. Was the scar acting up or something? He remembered how he could feel pain whenever Voldemort was close to him.

Could he somehow cut off that link? He did not want to feel pain, such an extreme pain it was too. Harry thought it a great disadvantage and decided to ask Dumbledore to help him.

The train ride back home was quite fun, as Harry involved himself in a game of chess against Ron. "And checkmate," exclaimed Ron happily, as he moved his king to block Harry's king's escape.

"Hmm, interesting," Harry murmured, and then chuckled, "Chess master Ron Weasley has done it again."

"Well then," Hermione said after a minute as they packed up the chess board, "What are you going to do on the summer holidays, Ron?"

"Um, probably stay at home, you know with Voldemort back and all, we're going to be pretty busy." Ron sighed, "I can't believe it, he's back you know, the worst dark lord in the history of the world. My parents told me stories about those days." He was silent for a moment. The rest of the compartment watched with awaited breath, and then Ron continued with a slow and hesitant voice as if he were afraid to say it.

"My parents thought they would die before they would see me graduate from Hogwarts."

They didn't speak much for the rest of the ride and said solemn good byes.

--------------

AN: So what do you guys think? Review!


	20. Blue Frogs Rain Down On Spain

AN: This is an AU story... please be aware... i write as a blue frog writes while riding the bike of tomorrow...

Voldemort strode up the cliff with purpose, his eyes glaring red energy at the death eaters lining two rows. Voldemort walked like a king. Malfoy strode beside him, a bit further back, along with Bellatrix Lestrange. Peter Pettigrew followed the three, leading the back, his silver hand gleaming in the harsh sunlight of the cliff-scene.

"Is the plan ready?" Voldemort said, his voice a steady, rising hiss of angriness.

"My Lord, the plan is indeed completing to perfection," Malfoy said, "However the fulcrum has moved. It seems Harry Potter still hasn't regained his memory."

"I would think not," barked Bellatrix, "He's a resilient boy. Torture will break him, a bout of 'crucio curses' will destroy anybody's resistance."

"This matter must be handled delicately," Voldemort said, "Send him visions, Bellatrix. Use the artifact's power."

They neared a cave. Voldemort strode through the darkness. Torchlights lit up with fierce, radiant energy. A passageway into a dark cove of secrets awaited them. Peter's hand shone silvery light accompanying the dim torchlights.

Voldemort seemed to absorb all the energy and light in the cavern as he swept down the passageway. Entering an archway with an old inscription written in a foreign, ancient language, Voldemort removed his wand from the folds of his robe and shouted, "Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light, as rich in green as the canopy of the rainforest, as natural as life itself, death sped on the heels of the green light, hitting an animal that scurried across the magnificently expansious cavern.

The squirrel flung against a small pillar raised to reveal a dias with a solid thuck that echoed throughout the cavern. "We are here," Voldemort announced, "Bellatrix, prepare the vision in your mind. This place of power will allow telepathy to be done very easily here. I will meditate on disabling Dumbledore. Malfoy, you lead the death eaters into the Ministry. Slaughter anyone who resists. Take control!"

Voldemort cackled in the cavern, a hissing laughter that held endless madness.

***

The ministry rose against a lake. It was newly renovated. Harry Potter strode through these halls, his school cloak brushing against the floor as he walked toward the Minister's office. He had a wand he bought in Knockturn Alley in his pocket that he hadn't shown to the guards. He wanted to defend himself if necessary at all times.

"We're here, sir," said a Ministry employee named Alice. She had bright blonde hair and a curvy figure. Harry smiled brightly at her. "We hope to see you again."

"Oh I'm sure I shall visit," Harry murmurred to her. He stopped, took out a bright golden necklace from within his pocket. "I believe this belongs to you," he said. "You must have dropped it."

Alice's eyes widened as she caught the necklace in her eyesight, marvelling at the jewlerry. Harry took the two ends of the necklace within both hands, slowly moved behind her and tied it upon her neck. He whispered in her ear, "I want to see you tonight at the Leaky Cauldron, at eight o' clock."

She nodded hastily, turned, left. Harry admired her retreat.

Harry had been feeling strange lately. Dreams of imaginative schemes plagued him, escapades into unkown lands. He saw a man he thought of as a guardian, a father figure, and in his dream he called the man, Mr. White.

He wondered, as he walked down the passageay to the oak door marked: Minister Of Magic: Cornelius Fudge, who this mysterious figure in his dreams was, the enigmatic Mr. White.

He had little to no knowledge of his own past, his own history, and in the deceptions contrived by figures hidden in the shadows, he knew something was very wrong with his life, but he could not quite put the finger on it.

He blamed it on nerves. "Voldemort's alive," he said out loud, as if testing those words of power. "Voldemort's alive," he repeated again, and then nodding strongly he opened the door and walked into the office of Minister Fudge.

Minister Fudge's office had two portraits on the wall and a window overlooking a very shiny and blue lake. The two portraits were both of very old men, whom Harry didn't particularly know, nor care, but those pictures moved, and spoke, and could thus advise. Harry noted the names underneath the portraits as his eyes swept the room. He took in the decor: the expensive white rug, the fresh cups of tea in china dishes worth its weight in gold, and the bear head that rested on top of the window pane. It formed an impression of Minister Fudge that crystallized into something more acute upon the examination of the man himself.

Minister Fudge had a bald head. A hat covered his baldness, but Harry's keen eyes noted the discomfort and the shame Minister Fudge felt about his baldness. He carried those emotions in the way he moved as he got out of his seat to shake Harry's hand. "It's good to see you here, Mr. Potter, I appreciate you coming on such short notice."

Minister Fudge pointed to a comfy looking chair that, although prestigious in appearance, was slightly lower than the Minister's own chair. The message was not lost on Harry Potter. He sat down politely, gaurding his feelings so as to not let an iota of emotion show on his pleasantly bland face.

He was here to listen, to absorb, to make informed decisions. If the Minister wanted to play a power game, Harry would pretend to play along... he had nothing better to do anyways. The summer's excruciatingly boring, Harry thought, at least with the Minister I have a chance to make a difference and do something useful.

"Now, I'm a bit worried, Harry," the Minister said when he settled down. He took a delicate sip of tea before continuing, "You refused auror protection. You are a highly valuable-erm, I mean, you gather a lot of attention, Harry."

Harry smiled, and nodded his head, "I guess so, Minister. I'm not a fool, I know every public appearance I make puts me in harms way."

"Then, why may I ask, did you-"

"The principle of the thing," Harry said, his eyes hardening slightly. Power games, Harry thought, are well and fine, but I play to win. Always. "The Boy Who Lived is a status symbol, and must not be associated with the Ministry."

Fudge's eyebrows rose in surprise, and a bit of indignation. "The Ministry is perfectly capable of protecting you."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. Dumbledore tells me there are spies in the Ministry, spies who report directly to Voldemort."

Fudge flinched at the name. Harry inwardly docked a point off his score, recognizing the mistake he had made. He didn't want to alienate the Minister. He wanted to use the Minister, befriend him. "But I don't know whether to fully believe him," Harry said, "He hides things, he manipulates information to suit his own agenda. But you know that better than anyone, I'm sure."

Minister Fudge quickly regained his calm and said, "I do know, Harry, I know that in this world the only person you can truly trust is yourself, is that right?"

Harry nodded, tensing inside. This was going somewhere. In the verbal exchange, Minister Fudge was not a simpleton. He didn't get to his position of prestige and power without a bit of skill.

"But I say, you can trust me, Harry. You can trust me, because I give you my word, and if you ask it, I shall give you assurance in the form of an unbreakable vow."

Harry was startled. He didn't know what to make of this. To pause for time, he pretended to absorb himself in pouring a pot of hot black tea into an empty china cup. He kept his eyes on the desk, on the parchments that were neatly organized, the ink pot and the quill, and most amusingly, a muggle paper stopper.

"Why? Why are you doing this?" Harry asked, recognizing the nature of the power game had changed. Is this Fudge's last resort, to gain my alliance? Harry thought. Is Fudge that desperate?

"Because I must," Fudge said, "If the Wizarding World is to continue to prosper I must know the truth. Who better to trust than you, the Boy Who Lived, who defeated the Dark Lord once before."

"You think I'll win again?" Harry asked, "So you believe the story?"

Fudge shrugged, seemingly casual, but retaining a sense of weighty importance to Harry. The man's doubtful. He doesn't know anything for sure besides the decline of his polls. He wants to use me for his own agenda. Just like Dumbledore. Harry took a sip of the tea, without milk. It tasted good, flavorful without being too bitter. The tea awakened his senses. He felt more alert.

"It doesn't matter what I think," Fudge said, "I've had my say. I want to offer you every possible aid I can think of because you'll need it, if the tale you and Dumbledore have spun is truthful."

"And how may I help you in return?" Harry asked. "I'll need many things from the Ministry. My aspirations reach high, higher than you might expect. What do you want?"

"You barter as if I am a shopkeeper and you're a valued customer," Fudge said with a laugh, "But I barter with my life on the line. I want the same as I give, an unbreakable vow from you."

Harry thought quietly for a long moment, staring out the window at the rippling lake. He nodded, finally, and said, "Alright, then."

To his knowledge Harry had never formed an unbreakable vow with anyone before. They talked about the wording in great length, before finally deciding on what the vow would consist of for each person. Then, Fudge tapped his wand on his desk and called out, "Alice, get in here, please, I'll need a favor from you."

The blonde from before who had given Harry the tour walked in, glanced at him in a barely concealed look of utmost interest and hunger and then turned to the Minister. "You wanted a favor, sir? This is highly unusual. May I ask what-"

"Sit down, sit down," Fudge gestured to the chair beside Harry. "Mr. Potter-Harry, I mean, is going to give me an unbreakable vow, and I will reciprocate. Do you understand what this means?"

"You'll need a witness," Alice said, "Someone to seal the deal, so to speak."

"That's correct," Fudge said, "Take out your wand Alice."

Fudge lifted his own wand, and Harry did the same. The tips didn't quite touch but came close. Alice did the same with her wand. A shower of sparks erupted from each of the three's wands. As if the magic around them sensed their intent, the sparks swirled into a tiny ball of icy blue flame.

"Is this normal?" Harry whispered.

Fudge shook his head, "I don't know. I've never done this before. The theory I've read says it takes a different form for different people. No two vows can be done in the same way. The magic is an everchanging, dynamic element... I just don't know."

"Say it then," Harry said, "Say your vow."

Fudge cleared his throat. He looked at Alice, and then gazed down to the icy ball of flame contained between their wands.

"I swear, on threat of my life, that I shall endevour to help Harry Potter in any way I can for the next year to defeat Lord V-Voldemort, and aid him in anything he asks for."

Harry spoke, his heart unsure, "I swear, on threat of my life, that I shall endevour to raise the Ministry's public image, and that of Minister Fudge in return for his help."

Alice spoke, "I witness the vow. So it be said, so it shall be done."

The icy blue flame died down to a very angry looking red spark. Then that too dissapeared in a plume of smoke that washed over the room and fled out the window into the empty sky.

Alice peered at Harry, "I never knew magic could be this-this exhilerating."

Her cheeks were red, her eyes bright as a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Harry gave her a loopy half smile of his own. "I'm tired," he said, "And hungry."

"I'll order lunch," Minister Fudge said promptly. Then, he sat back in surprise. "That was unexpectated of myself," he said, "I felt as if an electric jolt ran up my spine... forced me to-"

"To help me," Harry said, nodding, "After lunch, I'll tell you my needs, and you can in turn tell me how to help the Ministry."

They had curry from a muggle restaurant, along with a shrimp dish and pasta. Harry took a slow, thoughtful sip of his wine, and said, "Minister, I will need my restrictions to use magic to be lifted."

Fudge nodded between mouthfuls of pasta. He took a long gulp of his drink - an alcoholic beverage of some kind - and said, "I think I can swing that by the Wizengamot. Special provincencies. However there are some people who will resist that motion, people who want to oust me and who have ties with death eaters."

"You know that for sure?" Harry said, an eyebrow tic indicating his surprise. "I see..."

"No, not for sure," Fudge said bitterly. He took an angry bite of shrimp. "I will find proof somewhere, however. I cannot legally use veretieserum as it infringes on the rights of wizards and witches, but I have a cunning plan."

"How Slytherin of you," Harry commented, "I checked the records. Imagine to my surprise to find Cornelius Fudge a member of the house of snakes so I dug deeper... Your slytherin background prompted me to meet you, nothing else."

"You're a-"

"Ravenclaw... I think, no wait, Gryffindor..." Harry chuckled, "Houses don't mean anything to me. I, as the boy who lived, represent the entirety of the wizarding population's focus against Lord Voldemort, along with Albus Dumbledore. They hale for a savior and look to me to do the miracle, the magic deed. I floundered, confused and angry for some time. I was frustrated at my inability to accomplish the simplest tasks, and the death of my godfather precipated actions to take measure of myself, and my aspirations..."

Harry said, "But all this is just inner thought processes... I cannot say for sure if I am correct, it is simply how my mind works right now."

"It did not work that way before?"

"No, it didn't..." Harry got up, shook Fudge's hand and eventually returned to the Alley, to the Leaky Cauldron, for dinner with Fudge's secretary, Alice, who looked very pretty indeed in a skimpy black dress. 


End file.
